


Can't Fight the Moonlight

by JeezusCheezits



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Costume Kink, F/M, Halloween Costumes, Married Sex, Predator/Prey, Showing Off, Skyla (Pokemon), Waluigi - Freeform, Wario - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-24 13:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 31,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4920979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeezusCheezits/pseuds/JeezusCheezits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A full moon shines over the ASWF's Halloween edition of High Voltage Television, and two of their stars are feeling its effect more than others.  This is their story...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Temptation Fixation

     "You go ahead, Dustin." His voice is gruff and raspy, fuller than usual. "We'll catch up."  
     "You're sure?" The tallish redhead knows his tag team partner has never been extremely comfortable at the post-show soírees that tended to pop up whenever freshly-showered wrestlers showed up at a local watering hole for a night cap. He also knows that his compatriot tends to duck out early from these events, prefering to rest up and review his match from the night for criticism. Usually, nobody would bat an eye about it, but that simply isn't an option tonight.  
     Tonight is the fifteenth annual ASWF Halloween Bonerattler. What started as the federation's private Halloween costume party had, by 2012, become a fan-accessible bash, complete with high-end catering, live bands, and security detail to keep party fouls to a minimum. Attendance for at least an hour has been mandatory for the wrestlers since 2018. "They're here for you," Mr. Silver had said six weeks prior, during the meeting where the theme for the year was announced. "I expect you to be here for them."  
     "You know bossman'll wear you out if you no-show the party."  
     "I won't!" comes the terse reply. "I just...we need to take care of something personal before we show up, is all."  
     The redhead kinks his eyebrows in concern. "Okay dude, do what you gotta do. Just remember, we're the Tag Team champs, and we've gotta represent. Just...don't show up this tweaked, okay?"  
     "Tweaked?" He sounds more offended than nervous. That's a good sign. "Dustin, I ain't tweaked, you know that."  
     "Adam, I know tweaked, okay, and you're doing a fine job acting it right now." The truth. Dustin recalls the first time he saw a man on PCP. He acted like this for the first ten minutes of the trip, overexcited and edgy. Five minutes later, he was shaking like a chihuahua out for a walk during a Fargo snowstorm. Fifteen minutes after that, all Hell broke loose, and Dustin cut a dash before he was arrested as an accesory. After the long, tiring match they'd just had, and dealing with a person much larger than the one in his memory, he isn't looking to relive that night.  
     "I'm fine, really." A lie. He catches his breath in his chest. "I'll catch up. You go ahead, I'll show up before I'm missed."  
     Dustin seems leery at best, but the night's call is far too strong to ignore. "Swear to me."  
     Adam raises his hand in imitation of taking a sacred oath. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The truth.  
Dustin chuckles. "Don't take all night, man."  
     He nods wordlessly. He isn't on anything illegal, but something is very different about him, of that there is no doubt. Just one look at her tonight, and he became a different creature.  
     The picture, burned into his mind, comes back to him now. She is a vision, a mortal who could tempt angel and devil alike. Sparkling green eyes gaze at him longingly while pouty, ruby lips blow kisses and whisper words of desire. Smooth, creamy legs thicken gradually, leading to curvy hips and a lusciously round backside clad in light blue chino fabric. Full breasts feature prominently under a tight belly shirt of the same color, and dark blue straps run over her body, criss-crossing her softly hourglassed torso to pull the ensemble together. Flare-red hair, with a large lock pulled into a loop that sits at her right bang, perfectly compliments her rounded face. Since he beheld her just under an hour ago, she has haunted him. She is his drug, the only cure for what ails him. His body screams to know her. Deep within him, a primal urge tears at its cage, baying madly at her moon, hungry and desperate.  
     He makes a decision. Tonight, before anything else, he will find her. She must be his. She WILL be his.


	2. Daydream On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn a bit more about our hunter...

     He sits at the bench. His body is in Peoria, Illinois, but his mind is in a faraway land that never was, battling ogres with a great and terrible maul. Most of this meeting hasn't pertained to him so far, so a bit of harmless daydreaming wouldn't be frowned upon, he figures unconsciously. As a mighty swing liquifies the skull of a thinly-armored goblin warlock, spewing viscera across the cobblestones beneath Lord Manfred's mighty feet, a single word crashes through the scene, bringing the skirmish to a sudden halt.

     "Nintendo."

     He snaps back to the real world in a hurry. What did Nintendo have to do with them, exactly?

     He refuses to raise his hand, for fear of asking the obvious question. Instead, he joins blithely into the happy murmuring of the gathered men and women around him. Thankfully, once the din dies down, the speaker, a man not much smaller than himself, with graying hair and grayer eyes, continues his announcement.

     "The paperwork got finalized just this afternoon, and the whole shebang is a phenomenal deal. Nintendo wants us to advertise their newest console as part of the pre-Christmas media blitz. We'll be demonstrating said console at our shows until Uncensored by showing ASWF fans how well our newest game, ASWF 2027, runs on the newly-christened Nintendo Core." Another murmur. He grins slyly. He'd been pushing for a video game sponsorship since he'd walked in the door at the beginning of last year, and not just for the good of the company. Being a resident historian and expert in the craft, not to mention a Sexy Nerd, he believes it would only make sense for him and his tag team partner to feature heavily in any ASWF advertisements and vignettes tied into such a promotion.

     Really, would anyone else make sense? Darien Horne? Nah, too old. Huntley Peters? Not really a gamer, as far as the fans know. Mags Bradford? Maybe if she were going to prove how tough Nintendium is by breaking her shin kicking it. No, none of the other champions make much sense pushing this console. With the Sexy Nerds front and center in the media coverage, bigger paychecks were sure to follow. He is stunned, however, that the ASWF, a humble-yet-potent shoe-in for the second biggest wrestling company in the United States, managed to snag a promotion deal with Big N, the granddaddy of all gaming companies.  Could they be more fortunate?

     His boss raises a hand to silence the mumbling crowd. "There's more, folks." A smile crosses the older man's face. "They want to make a game, with our involvement and licensing, that is Nintendo exclusive. Even I'm not sure what they have in mind quite yet, but it is my hope that this gesture of faith means they believe strongly enough in our product and staying power to continue working with us in the future."

     His boss continues talking while he begins working up a product vignette for the first available show slot. With the Core slated for a holiday 2026 launch, he supposes they'll start priming the pump in early November, about six weeks hence. He envisions himself convincing his partners to fold it into their study of their future opponents, as much a trademark of the Sexy Nerds as team-up moves like the Sexbomb, A Series of Unfortunate Events, and DEEP HURTING. He doubts that Dustin and Ichi wouldn't agree to it. Before he can start working on dialogue in his head, the elder statesman of the group catches his attention once more.

     "To celebrate this partnership, we've decided to slightly alter the theme for our Halloween festivities. Instead of the rumored video game free-for-all, we're going to help kick off the advertising push by installing a Nintendo theme for both the special Halloween edition of High Voltage Television and the Bonerattler, with all personnel dressed as Nintendo characters for these events. Mind you, there's a long list of franchises that fly under their banner, so you'll have plenty of options."

     A chorus of mixed reactions fills the air. Some men laugh, some groan, but he smiles wide enough to crease the corners of his mouth. He knows exactly who he'll be this Halloween. Now, it's all just a matter of getting his idea in Mr. Silver's hands first. "All costumes will have to be approved by us, of course, but we'll have consultants from NOA to help you with costume design at the Firestorm in New Orleans, which is two weeks from today. Now, are there any questions?"

     A hand shoots into the air. Seeing the arm, and the man, it belongs to, he stifles a disgusted groan. Shane Howard is no idiot, per se, but he does have an unfortunate knack for asking stupid questions. "So, just so I'm clear, boss," he starts, "we're not allowed to dress as Master Chief?"

     He cannot help himself. Before he can stop his voice, an aggravated "For fuck's sake!" barks forth from his throat and rings above the assorted groans around him. He follows the exclamation with an irritated glare towards the asker. Shane Howard shrinks back into his seat as best as he can manage. The groans melt into snickers and japes at both of their expenses until Mr. Silver's voice crushes the din.

     "Well, Mr. Gerin, we can't all be experts in the field like you." His boss's face is set in a wry smile, an attempt to hide the hostility in his voice. Shane graduated at the top of his class in the ASWF Battle Forge three years ago, and has been given chance after chance to succeed since. Around the locker room, it is known that the young man is favored by this owner for his drive and positive attitude, and also for the fact that if the graying lion in front of them asked Shane to eat a bug on live television, he would do it with a smile on his face and bunny ears on his head. "In a way, Shane has actually addressed a relevant concern with his question. While Master Chief is not, and likely never will be, a Nintendo character, there are a number of characters that, while they are heavily associated with Nintendo, actually belong to some other parent company." He pauses a beat to collect his thoughts. "For these specific characters, I'm thinking it'll be best if we talk about them on a case-by-case basis in private, because it really just depends on the parent companies."

     The rest of this conversation is nothing Adam doesn't already know. He begins planning out his costume in his mind. He knows who he wants to be. He knows there'll be no legal troubles with it. The only question on his mind is this--can he convince his partner to go along with it?


	3. Stalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tension builds as our protagonist goes on the hunt for his prey.

     His stance is lowered, making his pace less of a walk and more of a stalk.  His breath is a low, yearning pant.  His eyes dart and his neck swivels, searching desperately for any sign of her as he makes his way through the dim corridors of the vast arena. A hunter is he, and she is his only prey.

  
     Something about the night has brought out the animal in him. Maybe it's the night itself. This particular Halloween is blessed to bathe under the light of a full moon.  Generally, he dismisses the idea that the moon influences anything more than tidal patterns as far as Earth is concerned, but a full moon on Halloween, his favorite holiday on the calendar, stirs a sentimental part of his soul.  Old folk tales tend to equate the full moon with man and beast alike acting in a primal fashion. Even today, tales circulate about police departments being stretched thinnest each month on the night of the full moon, leading some to consider that something about this part of the lunar cycle causes people to lose their "right minds".

  
     He believes these stories are classic examples of self-fulfilling prophecies. He even stated as such in a paper written for his Social Deviance II class at Michigan State.  As he put it in his thesis statement, "The continued presence of these stories in the cultural zeitgeist, promoted by the repeated reporting of deceptive statistics and anecdotes over a number of media channels, artificially create a social expectation towards social deviance, perhaps encouraging people to act out of character in response to the presented stimulus." His professor commended him for his use of relevant language and thorough research. His roommate chided him for robbing him of an excuse to score with the more straight-laced sorority chicks on campus, as if he needed the help. All in all, it was a good paper, even if it didn't stop people from acting like morons on full moons. Just because he's got a reason for the phenomenon doesn't mean it's going to stop suddenly.

  
     Perhaps his own preferences have something to do with his current mood. In the interest of full disclosure, he's been in a state of near-constant arousal since the beginning of October. He can't quite recall when it started, but for many years now, he has had an intense liking for fancy bedroom dress. A simple teddy is more than enough to catch his attention, but as the costumes get fancier and more provocative, he grows more amorous. With the modern trend towards higher skirts and deeper plunging necklines on women's costumes with each passing Halloween, the holiday has served as a veritable buffet of tantalization for him, and this year has been no different.

     These two elements, along with myriad others, could be blamed for this current status as a lust-fueled beastman. Of course, it would be negligent to ignore the effect the high-grade aphrodisiac coursing through his veins must be having on his mental state.

     Moonlight© is advertised as sexual dynamite in a bottle. Each bottle contains twenty large, brownish-red capsules, each which contain a proprietary blend of concentrated, naturally-occuring aphrodisiacs like cinnamon, ginger, and chili pepper.  Nobody is quite sure what the top-secret ingredient alluded to on the bottle is, but everyone agrees that it is very strong and very effective. At one point, he did not agree with that statement. He would agree now, if capturing and ravaging her were not the only two thoughts on his mind.

     Sweat crawls from his forehead and drips into his eye, causing him to shake his head furiously in an effort to clear his vision. As his long, wavy black hair falls back into his eyes, he hears something carom off the walls. Laughter? Yes, laughter! Her laughter! He's heard it so much in the backstage area, he'd know it anywhere. The echo tells him she's distant, but still in the building.  He leaps towards the sound, still on the prowl. As he chases her ghostly call down darkened corridors, a stray thought wriggles free of its casket and passes over his pulsing, pursuing mind...

      _Maybe a double dose was a bad idea._


	4. Pre-Match Jitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's good to be a little nervous before a match--it means you care.
> 
> Getting nervous about the afterparty, though...that's something different again.

     "Dustin, it's driving me buggy."

     "I can tell. You won't shut up about it."

     He tucks a yellow t-shirt into the bright purple overalls bunched at his waist. His partner pulls a dark purple sleeve over his tattooed right forearm, stopping the pull at his bicep.

     "Just wait, dude. You'll see with the rest of us."

     "You know about my history with surprises."

     "Yeah, but she's not your little sister." The second sleeve slides over his left arm with the same ease as the first. "Really, when's she ever disappointed anyone?"

     He smiles vaguely. "Never, if I'm honest." She is well-known to be eager to please, always ready to entertain with a joke or a song. Frowns never last long around her. "I just don't like how it's such a mystery," he says. "Why's it such a secret?"

     "Who knows? Why ask why?"

     He leans over and slips a green leather boot over his left foot. Once he'd broken these boots in, he'd found he had little problem wrestling his usual mat-based style while wearing the curled points on his toes that the costume required. "That's what I do, Dustin." He tightens the laces up his bare leg, ending in a stable knot at the top.

     "So what makes this any bigger a deal than that?"

     "It's the silence of it all, I guess. Our costumes have coordinated in some way since senior year of high school, but I didn't even have a hint to work with this year! What does she have planned, and why am I being cut out?" His voice is getting progressively higher, a sure sign of agitation. Dustin realizes what's actually going on in his partner's brain all at once.

     "Dude, you're rattled, and it's not about her. What's really bothering you?"

     He shifts uncomfortably on the hard metal bench. He takes his other boot in hand. "Honestly?" he asks as he slides it over his foot. Dustin nods and motions for him to continue. His stomach growls as it attempts to unknot itself. "I'm nervous about tonight."

     "You're gettin' wound up about the party already?"

     "Don't say it like I can help it, Dustin." He secures his second pointed boot as he did the first one. "Trust me, if I could make it so I didn't feel the need to run screaming out of every party of more than fifteen people, I would do it." His muscles tighten reflexively as images of a raucous party, brimming with jumbled conversations and chaotic, fervent activity, flash before his eyes. His legs begin to quake and bounce with nervous energy.  His nostrils flare. "It's not like I enjoy feeling like this."

     Dustin puts his hands out defensively. "I'm not saying you do. In fact, it's obvious you don't. Maybe you should narc up before the match, get it into your system well in advance."

     He nods. His partner has a point. He starts rummaging around in his duffel bag. He wants one particular item, a white pill bottle. His condition is well-controlled by the application of a mild anti-psychotic medicine on an as-needed basis. Seems like he'll need it now. Feeling plastic underneath the cloth, he produces--two bottles? His medicine's unexpected companion causes him to pause. Moonlight©? A memory falls into place. Is tonight the night? He wrenches open the childproof caps on both bottles. By his brief count, one rust-colored capsule is missing. He collects one pill out of each bottle and takes them together with one swig of the greenish liquid on the bench beside him. Then, for insurance's sake, he takes a second Moonlight© and uses the last of the drink to wash it down.

     "Feeling better?"

     "Maybe a bit?" It always takes a minute for the medicine to kick in. "I'm just gonna veg until match time, let it do its thing."

     "No time for that, brother!" Dustin pops to his feet in a blink. He adjusts the straps of his black overalls as he talks. "We've gotta meet with Brandon and Marky about the main event tonight, and after _that_ , we've got a vignette to shoot."

     He grimaces. He hates being this busy before a match. He wants to be able to focus on the match at hand, to prepare himself mentally to perform at the highest level. Even so, he does realize that planning and promotion are as much a part of his job as his actual performance in the ring. He doesn't feel that way right now, though. With a heavy sigh, he secures the bottoms of his pants over his boots, fastening them to the hems of his truncated overall legs. This modification to his costume was specially designed to accomodate his thick, muscle-bound legs, which had completely blown out two sets of similar overalls during dark matches earlier in the month. This setup allows him to retain an authentic character look while also maintaining the mobility that makes him such an accomplished mat wrestler.

     In a way, he is thankful to have a mundane task like fastening his pants together to occupy his mind right now. This way, he won't be compelled to let the panic of the looming party creep into his mind. Eight buttons on each leg. He counts each one as it snaps into place under the pressure of his rugged fingers. _One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight. Again. One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight._ He feels better already. It's unusual for his medicine to kick in so soon, but not at all unwelcome. He stamps his feet on the concrete floor, using the transferred energy to rise from the bench. A yellow cap, emblazoned with a purple W, completes the ensemble. "Okay, let's go find Brandon, get that done. After that, we need to swing by makeup."

     "Makeup?"

     He gestures around the eyes vaguely. "Eyeshadow, bro! Essential to complete the look. This is Halloween, after all, and I've got a rep to uphold from last year."

     Dustin smiles. That's more like the Adam Gerin he knows: authentic, meticulous, competitive, and just confident enough.


	5. Close Enough to Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The predator closes in on his prey...

     His footsteps fall silently on the concrete floor. The only evidence of his movement is the soft echo of each step off the bare cinderblock walls that surround him. Leather boots are excellent for not being heard. By comparison, his heaving breaths are far louder. He breathes in deeply through the nose, fearful that his lusty near-panting will give him away. The harsh halogen lights beat down on him, casting a bleak shadow in front of him. His tread is steady and his senses are ablaze, searching only for further traces of her. Since losing track of the echoed voice, she has left no trail, no clue, no hint of her whereabouts. His determination will not flag, however. He must find his prey, and he must have her. There can be no other outcome.  
     He rounds the corner, approaching a concessions stand closing up shop for the night. Were it not for the great and terrible hunger in his loins, the allure of the free grub being offered on the counter would at least give him pause. Still, he stops for a moment to plot his course. He takes a deep whiff of his surroundings. Amidst the scents of fake butter and chargrilled meat, a more familiar smell cuts through to his nose. Lemons...cardamom...and green apples, picked at the height of freshness. Her smell. He knows she doesn't wear much perfume, never enough to linger so heavily for long. She must have come this way recently. Perhaps she was leaving him a trail to follow? She isn't far from him, and, whether actively or passively, she wants to be found. The idea thrills him. He grins widely, the corners of his mouth turning wickedly as he does.   
     He resumes more slowly now, tracking her scent as best as he can. The hallways he walks become more labyrinthine and isolated at each twist and bend he follows, still catching the occasional whiff of her enticing perfume. As he progresses, he notices that it blends with a hint of a sour, almost metallic musk. His grin widens, and his eyes bulge slightly. He also knows that smell, and he loves it. Pungent, yet warm and welcoming. He licks his lips in anticipation.  
     A sudden peal of laughter breaks through the deathly silence around him. The voice is deep, bassy, and dead ahead. He instantly goes on high alert, slowing his pace to a creeping tiptoe. The last thing he wants right now is to be noticed, especially by the possessor of that laugh. If his boss sees him in this state, the consequences could be very dire. His mind begins to race, his imagination running wild. Was she with him? Did he have her captured? He would fight him for her. He would kill him and have her as he bled, if it came to that. The other man, the man with that voice, is older, and his bones are more brittle, but he is still a fierce fighter. It doesn't matter. He will not be denied tonight.  
     "It worked for the people in the ring, right?  I know it worked for the audience.” Another voice. Her voice. Clear as a bell, and always laughing. “I just hope the cameras got a good, long look at me like that. It should be in next year's calendar.”  
     "Sorry, but the calendar's already shipped to the stores. It'll feature on the website, that you can be sure of.” The older man clears his throat. “It did work, no doubt, the spot and the pose, but Adam looked a little...unhinged out there. What do you know about that?”  
     She shrugs. “It was a brutal spot, so it only makes sense that he showed a more brutal side of himself. When was the last time people saw that?” Here she is, making excuses for him. She is an inspiration, an avatar of desire. “Amidst the amusing vignettes and the charity work, people still need to see him wreck shop to keep the team even vaguely heel.”  
     "Not that it's working,” the older man comments through a frown. “Mark made it sound like they were all flying by the seats of their pants out there. I don't appreciate that in my main events.”  
     She makes an admissive gesture. He sinks into a shady corner. He doesn't want her to see him like this. Not yet, anyways. “Halloween's his big holiday. He just got it in his head to work a little differently. Blame it on the full moon, if you like.” He winces reflexively. “We're not going to see him act like that again any time soon.”  
     The man nods. “If Mark were injured, this would be a much, much bigger deal. As it is, you're right, it worked very well. That was one heck of a main event, and I think the ratings tomorrow are going to reflect that.”  
     She chuckles. “I'm sure he'll be glad to hear it.”  
     "I'm certain he will—it's up for Match of the Night.” He checks the heavy silver watch resting on his wrist. “We'll announce that near the end of the Bonerattler. Speaking of, I need to get back into costume for that. When should we expect you?”  
     "Shouldn't be long, boss. I just need to touch up my face.” A lie. She looks perfect to him.  
     "We'll look for you.” These are the older man's last words as he disappears through the door behind him. He peers around the corner as he hears the door shut. She saunters down the hall, her hips swaying to a bouncy melody only she hears. As she passes his stakeout point, he springs upon her. Being over 100 pounds heavier than her, not to mention a two-time NCAA wrestling champion, he overpowers her easily and shoves her into his dark corner. He pins her against the wall, lasciviously goggling her full, gorgeous figure. Startled at first, the one ASWF fans know as Kate Cabana laughs lightly as she adjusts to his prescence. “Hello there, Adam. Just the guy I was looking for.” Then, with a wry smile, she adds, “Are you ready to go?”  
     "Katy,” he intones in a raspy voice, “you have no idea how ready I am.”


	6. Bang a Gong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have a last-minute change of plans before they enter the ring.

     “Hey, Adam, are you ready to go or not?”

     He looks up from his last-minute stretches. His legs are warm from the slight straining of muscles and tendons. “Yeah man, I'm ready!”

     “You feeling okay?”

     He claps his hands. “More than okay, Dustin. Let's kick the tires and light the fires, boyo!”

     Dustin hops over the passenger door of the purple drop-top Cadillac. Adam always gets excited before a match. In Dustin's mind, there may be no professional wrestler on the planet happier than Adam Gerin to practice his craft. He's usually not so demonstrative about it as he is tonight, though. He's been bouncy and restless right alongside Dustin for the last twenty minutes or so. For most wrestlers, this is run-of-the-mill stuff, but for Adam, who approaches his stretching routine with an almost meditative calm, this is akin to him showing up to work in a new car—and a new body.

     “Hey, I've been thinking about the car wreck spot for tonight,” Adam says as he slides into the driver's seat. A twist of the key, and the powerful engine roars to life, barely contained by the hood. He grins appreciatively in response to the sound of hometown steel. He privately wonders if he could get away with driving this beast home after the show.

     “What about it?” Dustin asks hesitantly. In the past, this man has fought vociferously against these spots, mainly because he usually ended up catching every single leaper—in one particular match, five people, and all by himself—and also because he doesn't trust anyone to properly catch all 270 pounds of him. After one simple spot in January led to him missing the Rise to Glory paycheck because of a splitting headache, courtesy of a mishandled catch by some greenhorn named Dominic Cross, Adam has been perfectly content to not take similar risks with his body anymore.

     “I was thinkin' I could kick that off tonight. Cut the chase short with my own dive, y'know?”

     Dustin stares at the third eyeball seemingly growing out of his partner's forehead. “You're sure you're okay?” he asks incredulously.

     Adam chuckles. “Why d'you keep asking that? I feel great! The meds are in full effect, you have nothing to worry about.” His grin and posture both scream confidence. “I'm just thinkin', y'know, it's Halloween. Might be a treat for the fans if we both show off some new tricks.”

     Dustin smiles as he adjusts the purple cap on his head with gloved hands. “What were you thinking of doing?” he asks.

     His partner shrugs. “Nothing crazy. Just a suicide spear It'll start the party off right, but it won't upstage you, either.”

     Dustin nods, until a nasty thought occurs to him. “You sure your boots won't hook the rope and fuck you up?”

     Adam puts his hand to his jaw. The curled points on his boots do pose a threat for the proposed stunt going haywire that he hadn't yet considered. If he's worried about that at all, he doesn't let it show. “I'll kick the ropes a bit before the match, see how much give the points have.”

     “Good idea,” comes the response. “Last thing you wanna do is end up on Botchamania 500 because your boots killed your momentum.”

     "That, and I happen to like all my teeth right where they are, thanks kindly.”

     The men share a laugh. A smooth, bassy tune begins to play over the loudspeakers. A large man in an ASWF polo shirt waves them out. “Come on, fellas,” he implores, “that's your cue!”

     Adam reaches to the floor and pops the transmission into drive. “Showtime,” he says, a touch of mischief in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the theme song at the end of this chapter:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jocrNBs09Ao


	7. Captured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunter has found his prey. What will he do with her, I wonder?
> 
> Warning: Long chapter is looooong.

     He presses his body into hers, his tongue probing forcefully around her mouth. His left hand cradles the back of her head from the concrete wall, while his right hand is firmly clamped onto her ample backside. Her left leg rests on his hip. He has her right where he wants her. He wants to invade her totally, and he's well on his way. Her arms snake around his back, fingertips raking up and down his broad, muscular torso. Her breathing relaxes, and she begins to reciprocate his kiss, teasing his tongue with slow, caressing strokes from her own. When he finally breaks the kiss, after what seems like a solid hour, she exaggerates catching her breath with deep gasps that echo through the halls and cause her bosom to press into his chest with each heave.

     “Why suh!” she finally says, her voice a satire of her mother's native Alabama drawl. “You do know how to take a lady's breath away, don't you?”

     He laughs harshly, but says nothing. His hand grips at her hair, slowly pulling her head back and to the side with a firm, but not painful, pressure on her scalp.

     “Y'know, if you're trying to make us fashionably late, this is a fine way to...” Her voice trails off into a moan as he begins nibbling up her trapezius and neck, sending good vibrations through her whole body. He teases her neck with a long lick, flicking her earlobe with the tip of his tongue. If she tastes this sweet now...he suckles her earlobe gently, eliciting a squealing giggle from her throat.

     “God, you looked so good out there tonight, Adam,” she whispers. She can feel his bulging package pressing insistently into her crotch. _No words, all action. He really is set on seducing me right now_ , she thinks as his head shifts back down to the tender joint of her neck and shoulder. _Not like he really needs to..._ She walks her hands up his back and onto his neck. This spurs him to bite down into the meat of the joint.

     She gasps at the initial shock, then lets out a low, elated moan as the tantalizing sensation of teeth pinching nerves and muscles, without breaking the skin, spreads throughout her body. She writhes under his ministrations and closes her eyes, losing herself in pleasure, her fingers twining into his wavy, jet-black locks. “No fair...” she languidly utters. “You're too good at that.”

     “No,” he answers as his hand moves from back to front, undoing the button of her shorts and sliding her zipper open to rest in the humid warmth surrounding her sodden underwear. “What's unfair is seeing you, looking that good, taunting me from behind that desk with ten minutes left to fill in the main event.” His thick middle finger starts to rub up and down the length of the wet spot in her g-string panties. She moans longingly as his touch excites her loins even further than his sudden appearance did. “What isn't fair is seeing you pose so sexily when I can't do anything about it.” His voice hisses in her ear as his hand sneaks under her panties. His ring and index fingers expertly part her moist snatch, leaving his middle finger to run freely, and slowly, across her soaking wet labia. It's clear that he's teased women like this before, and judging by her reddening face and her deepening breathing, it's working. She tries to buck her hips and grind against his hand, to get him to penetrate her just a little, but he flexes his finger away just enough to match each thrust, denying her that which she craves. “What really isn't fair,” he says as he teases her clitoris with his fingertip, causing her to quiver with excitement, “is trying to focus on catching a spring-heeled jackass like Chang when I can practically smell your pussy from the ring.”

     She pants with desire, occasionally letting out a frustrated whine as he torments her with an achingly slow drag of the finger across her most private parts. “Not...fair...” she struggles to say. Usually, she'd have a witty retort or two at the ready, but right now, pinned against a cinderblock wall, cut off from the outside world, and being teased by a gorgeous manbeast, she just can't find the words. Her face is flushed, her breath hot with want.

     Adam finds that he is panting in time with her. Seeing her so far in heat gets him more than a little excited. “What's not fair,” he continues, now using three fingers to taunt her honey pot with slow, gentle, uniform presses, “is trying to perform in the ring, when all I really want to do is leap out of the ring and fuck you raw in front of 12,000 people in attendance, right on top of your announcer's table.”

     “Is that why you're being so mean to me?” she asks in the most innocent, coquettish voice she can muster amidst her overwhelming arousal. “Have I been a bad girl, teasing you from afar?”

     “Very, very bad.” His hand releases her hair and falls to her breast, squeezing it harshly. She groans in surprise and pleasure.

     “How are you going to punish me?” Her delivery is breathless. “Do I get a spanking? God, I hope it's a spanking.” Her whole body screams for release, for contact more fulfilling than the barely-perceptible pressure his fingers are placing on her crease. It really doesn't help that he keeps pulling away whenever she tries to grind into him and establish more traction. It's like he can tell just when she's going to go for it, and pulls himself away just a half-second before she does.

     “Tempting. It's also tempting to just leave you like this, chasing me, desperate for me, until you go mad.” He begins rolling her breast around on her chest, pressing himself closer, threatening to crush her against the wall. “Here's the problem with that idea. See, I've been chasing you down like a wild dog for the last half hour, match time included, and I have a severe case of blue balls, no doubt aided by the Moonlight we both took.”

     “Yeah,” comes her haggard, husky-voiced reply.

     “I can't be seen like this. Neither can you. You demand release. I demand satisfaction. I think we can help each other.”

     She laughs shortly. “Do you now?” She leans forward, her mouth level with Adam's ear. Her thigh rubs up between his legs, grazing the obvious bulge in his pants. “Well, after such a long, hard match as you had,” she whispers, gasping the words _long_ and _hard_ for effect, “you must be hungry.”

     He smiles wolfishly, a talent learned from his namesake uncle over a number of summers. “Starving.”

     She pulls her hands back, brushing the hair in her face back over her ears. “And how would you say I look?” She draws her hands over her heavy breasts, never breaking her eye contact with him as his eyes follow her hands hungrily.

     “Good enough to eat.”

     “You _have_ to be thirsty, too, after all that sweating.” She pulls her hips forward, eager for him to finally plunge a finger into her wetness. Still he denies her, hovering just over her clit.

     “Parched.”

     “Then how about you grab a bite before we leave?” The shorts very suddenly slide off, with help from her fingers, which now rest at the waistband of a black leather g-string. His eyes widen, but his smile remains just as perverted and predatory as before.

     “I thought you'd never ask.” He turns his hand and pulls down on her panties until they reach her knees, letting them fall to the floor from there. He then pulls her from the corner and into the hall. He loves the sight of wet pussy glistening under direct light. Katy looks around furtively.

     “Right out here?” she asks, genuine concern in her voice. “Adam, the Silvers are still here. What if they catch us?”

     “Let 'em watch,” he sneers as he kneels down before her. He pauses to stare at her pearly pink pussy, to enjoy her tangy aroma, to appreciate her prodigious wetness. She didn't need the help of his tongue to get soaking wet tonight, but his animal instincts demand that he consume her in every possible way. He wants—no, HAS to taste her now. It's a shock, in fact, that he's shown even this much restraint and reverence to her temple before diving in face-first. “They might just learn a thing or two.”

     She chortles. “Babe, they've got four kids, I really doubt WE could show them--” is all she can say before he sweeps his arms under her legs and drives his head between her thick thighs in one smooth motion. She yelps in surprise as her feet come off the floor. Due to his immense strength, she's confident she's not going anywhere anytime soon. She wouldn't want to leave now, anyways. The ridge of his nose grazes lovingly against her swollen clitoris, sending a shockwave of pure electricity through her body as he drags his face upwards, savoring her warmth. “Ah, darling, you're such a tease,” she murmurs. “Fuck it, go ahead. I need to feel you in me.”

     Adam brings his mouth to bear upon her, millimeters from her soggy slit. He smiles deviously. A part of him likes torturing her like this. She's never really been one to be super proper at all times, but such an extreme state of arousal turns her into a wanton nymph, eager to please and desperate for release. She wanted him badly at times like this, and who didn't want to be wanted? He pools his mouth and slowly exhales, letting the heat of his breath mingle with the warmth around her walls. The hot air causes her to tingle and shiver slightly. She grinds her lips against his, tickling herself on his moustache.

     “Come oooon, baby,” she whines, “don't make me beg...”

     He presses his lips into her crotch, speaking directly to her pussy. “Maybe that's what I want, Katy.”

     A lie. She knows that hearing people beg makes him uncomfortable. When paired with blatant ego-stroking, however...that proves to be a winning combination. In her breathiest, most pornographic voice, she huffs, “Pleeease, Adam, don't leave me hanging like this. I neeeeed you.” She wiggles slightly on the cool floor, aware that only his breath is keeping her nethers warm. To his credit, his panting is doing a fine job of it. “Nobody in the world can make me cum like you do. You're my lord of thunder, my sun and stars.” He nuzzles her groin lovingly, spurring her on. “Please, lick my cunt, suck my clit, stuff your tongue all the way into me! I want nothing else in the world than to spray my love all over your face and watch you lick it off. Only you can make me do that, Adam. Help me, please!”

     “As you wish.” With a wink, he slides his long, meaty tongue across her glistening snatch. She trembles as he begins to lap up her juices with a mixture of long and short strokes. He makes a concerted effort to butt the bridge of his nose against her clit as he sinks his face deeper into her groin, the extra attention making her coo with desire.

     “Oh, baby, you're too damn good at that.” Her right hand falls to her breast, while her left hand slides to the back of his head and plays with his hair. She quivers again as she feels his teeth brush against her lower lips. _God DAMN_ , she thrills at the subtle threat. “Oh WOW,” she exclaims. “Yes, please.”

     Taking the hint, he carefully places love nips all around her vulva, licking each reddening lip as she squirms with pleasure. She screams haltingly as he suckles lightly on her clitoris. She can feel a welling deep inside her, like cresting waves of pressure and release in the core of her very being—small at first, but quickly growing in size and intensity. Her whole body feels hot, wet, and woefully empty all at once. The building waves of sensation maker her feel like they're lifting her off the ground in ecstasy. _Damn, he's good_ , she thinks as she lets the sensations carry her away. Suddenly, he parts her pussy lips with his thick tongue, probing firmly around her walls. She floats on the sensation on having something, anything, finally inside her. She bucks her head back in response to the divine tension. She wants him to bury his tongue deeper in her, and she's more than happy to do whatever she needs to do to make that happen. It's only now that she realizes that there's no longer a wall behind her to help prop her up. Her eyes snap open. One look down, and she realizes that she's resting in the perfect position to be powerbombed. She gasps.

     He cuts his eyes up at her. “Something wrong?” he asks innocently, just before he jabs his tongue back into her waiting snatch.

     Battling overwhelming arousal and a small amount of panic, she strains to keep her voice as smooth and calm as possible. No need to spook him, lest it cause him to fumble her. “N-nothing,” she stammers, “it's just that, well, I wasn't expecting you to get me this high, is all.”

     “Do you trust me?”

     The question scares her slightly. With his froggy voice so much huskier than usual, it sounds more intimidating than genuine. “Of course I do...” she forces herself to answer.

     “Then stay still, and hold on tight.” With that, he slides his hands from her legs to her ass and drives as much of his tongue as he can manage to get out of his mouth into her still-soaking hole. The sudden fullness, coupled with the adrenal thrill of imminent danger, sends pure ecstasy up her spine. She can feel the fear melting away into pure bliss as he swirls his tongue around inside her, lapping at every wall. His front top teeth press against her clit as he aggressively tries to push further into her.

     She gets it now. He's making out with her pussy, using her cunt lips as proxies for the ones on her face. The sheer filthiness of it all starts to overwhelm her. When he curls his tongue back and starts tickling her G-spot, it's almost too much for her to bear. She moans loudly and begins panting, trying vainly to hold off her building orgasm.

     It seems a bit crazy, in light of how desperately her body aches for release, but she wants to endure this blissful agony for just a little while longer. She loves the swell before the dam breaks, the tremendous pressure that comes just before her senses are crushed under a typhoon of elated relief. She knows she can't hold out for long, but she has found that this little bit of self-denial makes the screaming orgasm she knows is coming feel so much better.

     He presses his nose back over her clit, still working his tongue around her inner sanctum. His motions are fast and ardent, single-minded in their intent. She feels like every synapse and nerve ending in her body is firing all at once, so terrible is the pressure inside her. Just as it feels like she might explode from the buildup, her body gives way.

     “Oh God! Adam, I'm cumming!” This is all the warning she can muster before her body is wracked with the kind of orgasm, she imagines, meant for a woman in congress with a mythical creature. She screams with primal delight as she undergoes one of the most powerful, satisfying orgasms of her life, her every muscle contracting and warping with pleasure. The scream echoes through the halls of the arena, bouncing off of every darkened, empty wall. As her ravenous lover sets her gingerly onto the floor back-first, she is certain everyone still left in the building heard her. As the tension that tightened her limbs and stiffened her back relents, she finds that she doesn't care. In fact, there's a dirty part of her that hopes someone comes running to see what's the matter. She wants to be found, pantless and panting. She wants to turn and look in the face of that flabbergasted person and proclaim that yes, that inhuman roar they just heard came from her; yes, the man with the wicked grin on his face made her do that without even removing his pants; and yes, they need to bow down and worship him as the sex deity he clearly is.

     “You okay down there?” he asks laughingly.

     All she can do is smile and nod in response. Her trembling body, still recovering from such a rigorous internal assault, makes it hard to do much else right now. _This stuff is really good_ , she thinks hazily. She hasn't been rendered so silent since the night he officially proposed to her. She knows her husband isn't much of a risk-taker, but she's very, very glad he's taken one tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I get to a part that really gives this fic its Explicit rating!
> 
> By the way, no need to be shy--comment away, gang. If you have questions about stuff, feel free to ask me via comment or message.


	8. Something to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse inside Katy's job, not too far before the last chapter.

     She knows her husband isn't much of a risk-taker, which is why she reflexively reaches her arms out to stop him as he bounds off the ropes to her left.

     “No, stop! That's Dustin's job!” is the only indication the roughly 2.2 million fans watching ASWF High Voltage's special Halloween edition get from her that anything could possibly go wrong right now. They can't see the panic in her eyes or hear the catch in her throat as he dives between the middle and top ropes on the right side of her vision. When she sees “The Asian Sensation” Brandon Chang and his manager, P.T. Banner, crash into the solid barricade separating the crowd from the action, she heaves a sigh of relief. Not only does the spot end up looking good, but more importantly, they managed to keep their attacker from smashing the crown of his head into the barricade. Any fears of him having suffered a neck injury, a concussion, or any of a laundry list of other serious maladies with that spot melt away when he scrambles to his feet and rams his beefy thigh into Chang's forehead. She settles back into her cozy office chair.

     “'The All-American Nightmare' Adam Gerin is really playing with fire out there tonight!”

     She considers her broadcast partner for a moment. JJ Savvy, real name Jake Bailey, is a serviceable play-by-play guy, to be sure. He's no Mike Adamle, but he's pale replacement for Joey Styles, her former commentary partner. Working with Joey had been a dream come true for her, one that ended with his retirement from the booth six months ago. Since JJ's come along, she's tried hard to build the back-and-forth repartee essential for the success of a two-man booth in this industry, but nothing has worked so far, and she's not even vaguely interested in going as far as his parents had to build that on-air rapport. Frankly, he wasn't her type of man. Not enough meat on his bones.

     “What was he thinking?”

     “What were they doing messing with Wario's stash, that's the real question!” She lets a sneer of superiority drip into her voice to emphasize her leanings towards the federation's heels. “Those idiots don't know their source materials, and neither do you! Nobody messes with Wario's gold and lives to brag about it!”

     The Vancouver Kid, real name Marcus Willerton, bounces off the middle rope nearest the pile.  _Asai moonsault_ , she thinks, reflexively tapping the spot on his movelist where the move is named to match his gimmick. She's adopted this trick as a way to remind them both of the signature moves of the wrestlers involved. It doesn't always help, but she's trying, dammit.

     “Booyah! The Vancouver Kid givin' the fans their money's worth with a seated senton!” exclaims JJ as the Canadian spins over the top rope and backflips onto the duo brawling on the floor.

     Katy stifles a disgruntled groan. The line perfectly encapsulates everything wrong with the boy. The corny, 90's-tastic attempt at a catchphrase, the miscall on the maneuver, the forced delivery—as a professional, she has to call him on it.

     “JJ, how long have you been watching this sport?”

     His face falls. He knows, just by hearing her tone, that she's about to lower the boom on him for a miscall. He swallows audibly. “Several years now—“

     “Great!” Her tone is cheery, yet condescending. “Now, I'm not sure what planet you came from, and did all of your wrestling research on, but I'd like to welcome you to Earth! Now, just so you know, we call that move an Asai moonsault. See, when he flips backwards and arches like that, he looks like a crescent moon as he falls!”

     Annoyed, he responds, “Yes, thank you, I think I get it.”

     “Just making sure, ET.” He shoots her a dagger of a look. That's the other problem this guy has—paper-thin skin when confronted. He needs to realize, and soon, that she's only a smug, know-it-all bitch in character. Granted, she's not given him a ton of reasons to believe that, but still! As she returns to the action, Dustin Murray is in a full sprint towards the dogpile. She hurriedly exclaims, “What do they call this move on your home planet, space cadet?”

     He pauses for a moment to gape at the man in flight as he somersaults over the ropes, slamming himself back-first into the four fellows on the floor. “I couldn't tell you, but I know for a fact Dustin Murray calls that 'No Wires Attached!'”

     She nods approval. _He's back on his feet—for now._ “What more would you expect from the Prince of Parkour? He never met a risk he wouldn't take!”

     Quick as a wink, Dustin is to his feet. He hops onto the barricade and goads the audience for more applause, which they've happily supplied for the whole sequence. The cheering turns to excited, feminine squealing when he whips his t-shirt off and flings it into the crowd, a souvenier for one lucky somebody.

     “Well, Dustin just took his shirt off, everyone, finish your drinks.” His voice reeks of high-octane sarcasm.

_There's hope for you yet_ , she thinks. “Aww, what's the matter?” she chimes in. “He's just giving all the fans what they want to see!” As he begins gyrating to further instigate the crowd, Brandon Chang frees himself from the four-car pileup. As if running on instinct alone, he blindly backflips, smashing his knees into an approaching Brandon's shoulders. “Hey, JJ, what's that called again?”

     “A moonsault,” he deadpans.

     “Good boy! Here, have some candy.” She tosses a fun size bag of M&Ms in front of her broadcast partner, knowing full well that the microphones will pick up the distinct _clishk_ of the chocolate orbs hitting plywood. Besides, his craft services treatbag was a little thin compared to everyone else's, and she has plenty of candy at home. She could afford to be generous.

     “Dammit, Kate, I'm not a dog!”

     “Ahh, shut up and take your treat, alien.” _There's just no pleasing some people_ , she reflects as the pile untangles again.


	9. Reciprocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One good turn deserves another, don't you think? Adam certainly thinks so. Lucky him, so does his partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'd meant to get more of this up by now. Then work, and a sick baby, cut heavily into my free time this week. Ah well. Here's another chapter heavy on genitals, so I hope you like it!

     “Now that was a treat,” she says, when the ability to speak finally returns to her.

     He gives her a cool, sidelong glance. “You liked my little trick, huh? I thought you'd appreciate being airborne tonight, Sky High Girl.”

     She giggles at the reference to her costume. She had a feeling it'd be a hit, but maybe not this well-liked. Her hands, encased in satiny gloves, are desensitized to the feel of cloth. When, after a long moment, a wad-shaped form interferes with her broad, sweeping arm motions, she clutches it tightly in her left hand. It responds by soaking through the fabric over her palm. She smiles. _Here they are._ “Welp, guess I'm not putting this pair back on,” she chuckles. “Good thing I overpack on undies for every trip.”

     “Now why would you do something like that?” he taunts.

_What a gentleman, opening the door so wide for me,_ she thinks. “Well, a woman has to be prepared when she's around such a sexy man like you.” Her voice is pure seduction, butter-smooth and just a bit musky. “Who knows when she might be...overcome with passion.” She sits up on her knees, adding a pinch of teasing to her voice. “I wonder...should I wear something cute and comfy for the party? Or something a bit more...exotic? Or...” she watches for the gleam of naughtiness in his eye. “Should I wear something shamelessly slutty for the rest of the evening?” She loves watching him react to each suggestion. His imagination is rather vivid, and she can see it working to envision her in something in each category, a perverse smile growing wider with each wicked new vision. “What do you think, darling?” she asks coyly.

     Never in his life have his pants been this uncomfortable. His cock throbs, demanding to be released from its denim-and-brass prison. Hell, he swears it's one good pulse from breaking straight through the zipper. “I think I need to get these pants open before I destroy them.”

     She gasps. “Goodness, Adam, I'm sorry. It's been a long night already, and I must admit, my head's in a bit of a fog.” She tenderly strokes the obvious bulge in front of her. “Here I am, obsessing over what underwear should end up on our hotel room floor tonight, and you're standing there suffering.” As her hand caresses his stiff member from base to tip, he shudders in anticipation. “You're already going to have the biggest balls in the room—no need for them to be blue, right?” Slowly, she slides the zipper downwards. He sighs as the pressure on his groin is relieved, inch by inch. “Then people would start talking badly about me. They'd ask of me, 'What wife can't take good care of her own husband's most prized body part?' We can't have the locker room spreading rumors like that, can we?” She undoes the button of his overalls and traces the bottom vein of his penis with a single finger. She salivates at the thought of the swollen, rigid member before her filling her mouth completely.

     “So what're you waiting for?” His voice drips with desire and a hint of genuine confusion.

     “You made me beg, darling. It's only fair that I make you beg.”

     He shifts and squirms under the subtle pressure of her fingertips. “Come on, babe! You know my Will save is halved when I'm dealing with you.”

     She laughs devilishly. “Then why even roll? Tell me what I want to hear, and we'll cut to the good part, right here, right now.”

     He growls longingly as she exhales hot, moist breath onto his barely-restrained package. It's taking a tremendous amount of his currently-frail willpower not to whip out his cock and jam it straight into her waxy, waiting mouth. _No_ , he thinks, _it's best to play this game by the rules_. “You want me to beg you to suck me off? You want me to plead for you to wrap those succulent lips around my cock?”

     She hums affirmatively as she nuzzles his pelvis. Her head lolls to the right, and her eyes meet his. He's a sucker for those puppy-dog eyes. He'd do anything she asked, especially while she's toying with his massive bulge. He cracks.

     “Please suck my cock. I need relief, and you can give it to me, I know you can. I beg you, suck me off. I can feel the tension in me—if you don't help me out here, someone's leaving the party on a stretcher. Help me.”

     “My, my. Such an angry man. Still, your offering pleases me. If you need it so badly...” She reaches into the opening and tugs down the waistband of his sweat-soaked boxer briefs, finally revealing his swollen cock and full balls. He breathes a sigh of relief as his engorged privates hit the cool air outside his costume.

     As a means of proving a point, she had measured his manhood during their sophomore year at Michigan State. After several years of watching pornography and constantly comparing himself against the other fellas in the locker room, Adam was convinced that he just didn't measure up, despite Katy's repeated assurances that he was more than enough for her. Finally tired of the debate, she'd borrowed a tape measure from one of the costume designers who'd outfitted her during the fall production of _Titus Andronicus_. One lazy day, she visited his apartment wearing nothing but a french maid costume and a smile. Once inside, she got him all hot and bothered—not a hard task for her, admittedly—and took measure of him at his hardest. After recording the numbers and letting him carry her to bed, they did some research and found his rod to be on the high side of the world average. With hard numbers to back her claim up, she'd finally convinced him that 6 1/4” long is nothing to sneeze at, and that 6” in circumference was more than impressive.

     Tonight, that same rod stares her down, red and throbbing. Its head glistens with pre-cum, even in the low light of the darkened arena. Suddenly, it seems much larger than she'd measured. She swallows timidly, yet with some anticipation.

     “Something wrong down there?” There is neither privilege nor imperiousness in his voice, only concern for his obviously hesitant bride.

     “No, no problem, love,” she assures him as she pops her neck between her hands. “Lemme just unhinge my jaw first.”

     As a color commentator, her mouth already gets plenty of exercise during a workday. Still, this might pose a bit of a challenge for her. It might be the low light, it might be the Moonlight, but it just seems more intimidating right now. It's also much more tempting...

     She lightly kisses the tip of his dick, wicking away the strand of pre-cum. She can feel him twitch on her lips. She smiles. “Showoff.”

     “You love it.”

     She pushes her lips slowly over the slick cockhead until she's got the whole tip in her mouth. When taking on such a large task, she's learned that slow, deliberate motions are the key to success. Thus, she tarries here, letting her mouth get used to the sensation of being filled up. To keep him occupied during this, she licks at the opening of the cockhead, lapping up the savory pre-cum as it seeps out. He moans under the tongue lashings, eager for more. Once her mouth conforms to the feel of his taper, she begins slowly bobbing her head back and forth, swallowing a little bit more of his member with each downward thrust.

     A contented “Mmmmm...” escapes his throat as a hand rests unconsciously on the top of her head. He closes his eyes and lets the growing sensation of pleasure build in his loins. He leans forward ever-so-slightly as she cups his balls and begins caressing them with her gloved palm.

     The temptation to force himself further into her mouth is strong, but he fights it off with a memory from several years ago. When they first started getting intimately acquainted in high school, he'd made the mistake of gagging her unexpectedly with a hard thrust as she tenuously suckled him. She'd repaid him by biting down on his member immediately after. It was a mood-killer for everyone involved. “I'll be gentle if you'll be,” she'd said at lunch the next day, before anyone else in their gang showed up. It seemed then, and still does, like a fair arrangement. When she starts humming in soothing tones as her head bobs deeper and deeper onto his shaft, he's reminded of just how gentle she can be. Besides, she'll let him know when she wants him to go harder on her.

     He aches to see more of her. His hands slide down to her shoulders, fingers playing with the broad straps of her costume. When she feels him starting to tease them off, she flicks him sharply on the thigh—her way of saying “no” with her mouth full. “Whaddya mean, 'no'? I've been waiting to get this off of you all night!”

     She pulls away from him and meets his irked expression with a wink and a coy smile. “Then you'll have to wait just a little longer, darling. We do still have a party to get to, remember?” She draws her fingertips across the underside of his wet cock before she grips it gently and begins jerking him off with short, choppy strokes. “I just don't have time for a shower and laundry before we get there.”

     He can feel more pressure building in his loins with each stroke. “So whaddya gonna do when I cum, then, if you don't want a pearl necklace to go with your costume?”

     They both know the answer already. “You raise a fine point, dearest.” She releases her grip on his shaft and switches back to caressing his heavy balls, slowly shifting them back and forth. She drags the tip of her tongue across the underside of his shaft, slowly moving from base to tip, then suckles his rosy cockhead. Her lips make an audible pop when she pulls them off to tell him, “I guess I'm going to have to swallow every...last...drop of your seed. Less mess that way, right?” His perverted smile tells her everything she needs to know. “I thought you might agree,” she purrs. As she wraps her lips around his shaft, he gently slides himself towards the back of her throat. She closes her eyes as her mouth expands to accommodate him again, enjoying the fullness she now feels. _He certainly feels bigger tonight_ , she can't help but think.

     She truly loves the taste of him, especially after a match. The musk of his sweat is so masculine, so intoxicating, that just smelling him after a workout is enough to get her in an amorous mood.  There had been days where she'd worn him plain out by leaping on him just after a rigorous weight-lifting session, and that was without any chemical assistance. Tonight, with Moonlight in her body, she can feel her loins ache again for his touch as she savors his cock, and the thought of him flooding her mouth with sweet, smooth, sticky cum only makes her desire hotter. She slides her right hand down her body and begins rubbing her still-slick pussy with growing vigor as she continues to swallow his rod, centimeter by centimeter. She backs off just enough to keep his tip from gagging her as it looms towards the back of her throat.

     She always has to loosen up a bit before trying to deepthroat him, and tonight will be no exception. A few choppy thrusts with him buried this deeply in her mouth later, and her gag reflex relaxes enough to take him to the hilt. As she arches her fingers into her vagina, searching out her G-spot for more release, she feels him slide past her tonsils and into her throat with a mighty groan of pleasure. It's not enough to really restrict her breathing, but the sheer filthiness of it all, along with the slight suffocation she now feels, drives her mad with lust. She wants to be choked by her husband's fat, sweaty cock, and she doesn't give a damn who sees her like this, with three fingers in her snatch, one hand fondling his heavy balls, and her mouth stuffed to breaking with a huge dick. She cranes her head back to keep the friction up while her fingers pick up the pace, finally honing in on her G-spot. Perhaps it's because her recent orgasm has primed her pump, but she can feel another one welling deep within her already.

     Her lover's member pulses in her mouth. He like to flex it inside her whenever he gets a chance. It gives her something more to think about, as if her plate isn't full already. She disengages and looks Adam straight in the eyes. “Showoff.”

     “Don't act like I'm the only one here, love.” He grins mischievously down at her. “I'm impressed that you managed to swallow my whole cock without breaking your jaw, frankly.”

     “I've had practice,” she comments, her voice more cute than desirous as she starts jerking him off with great vigor. “Come on, baby,” she pleads. “It's been a long night, and I'm so thirsty. Won't you give me something smooth and sweet to drink?”

     He grimaces slightly. “Can you not? You know that innocent voice messes with my head.” He can feel he's about to cum, and when it's go time, he doesn't want to be distracted by a sudden change in tone. Her hand makes his loins swell and twitch, but her voice has damped the mood just a bit.

     She smiles. “Sorry, love. Is this better?” She suddenly slides her lips back over his shaft and runs her mouth over his whole length rapidly. She bobs deeply and dutifully, fingering her pussy with each stroke. She can feel the pressure building in her very core, much faster now than before. She wants to taste his seed, but her body is desperate again for release. What's a girl to do, but take all the pleasure she can? Her head moves more rapidly to match the tempo of her masturbation. She wants it all, and she wants it now.

     His breathing grows more rapid. He growls as she drives herself towards his pelvis again and again. “Much better. You want that nut?”

     She hums an affirmative as her head slows down. She sucks forcefully on his cock, forcing him to stand on his toes to keep his balance. His body trembles with pressure and pleasure. “Oh God,” he exclaims breathlessly, “here it comes!”

     That's all the warning she gets, but that's all the warning she needs. A low moan rumbles in her throat as the first jet of hot jizz his the back of her mouth. Her mouth quickly fills up as each shuddering pulse of his cock pours more and more cum over her tongue and teeth. She'd expected a big load from him, given how heavy his balls were when she first handled them. What she doesn't expect is for this hot, sticky load to stroke the fires of her own lust so fiercely. Thus, she is startled when a ferocious orgasm very suddenly takes hold of her whole body, making her shudder and freeze in place. She pulls away quickly, bracing herself on the concrete floor with her hands. She swallows most of her mouthful, but a rough cough forces some of his seed out of her mouth. One last jet shoots by her head, just missing her hair.

     She's suddenly aware of how much of a mess she must be right now. Here she is, on her hands and knees, naked from the waist down, her lipstick staining her husband's still-dripping cock an angry shade of red, and quaking from her second overpowering orgasm of the night. She doesn't care one bit. There's just no wiping the smile from her face right now.


	10. Welcome to the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We move now to a party, already in progress. While one sets off to make a scene, the other just wants to set the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, folks. Full-time working is taking more of a toll on my free time than I'd have hoped.
> 
> Anywhat, here's the next chapter. Enjoy.

     When they finally reach the Moonrise Hotel, the ASWF Boneshaker is in full swing. Hundreds of fans jam the ballroom floor, still sweaty and exhilarated from the show they just witnessed. They mingle freely with 50 or so costumed ASWF wrestlers and personalities, most looking to goof off a bit after another long, hard day on the road. The ASWF has a reputation for being the most fan-friendly federation in the business, and with events like this one as a regular part of the business, it's easy to see why.

     Most of the time, when a fan meets a wrestler, their interaction is staged to some degree—a photo op, an autograph signing, something along those lines—which ensures that the wrestler is placed on a pedestal. These meetings are formal and often pleasant, but are also impersonal and quickly forgotten, unless one or both parties are particularly offensive or grateful. This led to an atmosphere where fans were afraid to approach their heroes in public for fear of reproach, as well as wrestlers being hesitant to reach out to fans in public out of a fear for their privacy.

     These events are designed to help bridge the gap. Bringing fans into informal, “behind-the-scenes” social settings lets them see the wrestlers as human beings and builds a sense of camaraderie between everyone involved. Wrestlers gladly admit that they have fans they're waiting to see when they land in most cities, and not just for the usual, “best-known secret” reasons. Of course, there are risks inherent to this level of interaction, but certain steps, such as a 21+ age limit for this event, have been taken over the years to defray the chances of things running afoul. These events are part of why the ASWF has the most loyal fanbase in the industry.

     With a glowing smile, fresh lipstick, and clean underwear, Katy is ready to party. Much to her surprise, so is her companion. At least, he seems much less tense than normal with the prospect of mingling. She'd loosened him up before parties in the past, but it had never worked quite as well as it has tonight, it seems.

     Cool, calm, and on the level, Adam seems ready for the mad crush they'll surely face. One of the silver-clad ASWF Tag Team Championship belts rests on his shoulder. He'll strap it around his waist once they reach the ballroom doors. All of the champions are expected to display their hardware at social events, and Adam is damn proud of the title he holds.

     “How'd Mrs. Silver tell you to play this?” he asks abruptly.

     “Half and half,” she responds. “If anyone calls us on it, we admit to being married. If they don't know about it, I admire you as a wrestler, and you barely know I exist.”

     He looks her up and down slowly, still drinking in how her costume brings out her every curve. She's still just as beautiful and sexy as she was the day they first met. “That's gonna be hard to do,” he says with an easy grin. “You're gonna be the most enchanting person in the room.”

    She blushes slightly and playfully swats the air like a antebellum maiden modestly shushing the honeyed words of a lovestruck suitor. “Oh, flattery will get you everywhere.”

     His grin turns wolfish. “That's the whole point, my dear.”

     She returns his smile. “Not that it doesn't help, but you should know by now that you don't need to butter me up to get hip-deep in me.”

     “What do I need to do, then?” He still hungers for her touch, her warmth, even if it's not the only thought on his mind right now.

     She sashays provocatively ahead of him. “Just be patient, dear. The night is still young.”

     “I'm sure all these people are great fun, but I'd much rather blow this party off and take you upstairs right now.”

     She grins. “I'll make you a deal,” she purrs as she turns to face him again. “Let's be nice and sociable for an hour or so, do our due diligence for the sake of keeping the bosses happy.” She leans against the ballroom doors suggestively. “After that, well, I'm yours for the rest of the night.”

     His ears perk up as he adjusts the title belt around his waist. It glistens in the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. “That a promise?”

     Her light brown eyes sparkle with mischief. “That's a promise from me to you, kid.”

     He chuckles. With a promise like that waiting at the end of the night, he knows he can survive one measly hour in a sea of faces. It'd be easier for him if he could hang out at her side, but for now, they have to part ways to maintain the gossamer curtain of kayfabe surrounding the federation. “Ladies first,” he says as he makes a grand, sweeping gesture of opening the ballroom door. The din of the party amplifies the noise in the hallway fivefold.

     “I've told you before, Adam,” she says playfully. “I'm no lady.”

     “You're whatever you want to be,” he responds.

     “Damn right,” she says as she sashays into the room, the picture of confidence. _She is a wonder_ , he thinks as he leaves. As the door closes, he slides a plain-looking black smartphone out of his costume. With deft finger swipes, he sets an alarm for 11:37 PM—precisely 62 minutes from the present time. This would give him an excuse to skip out before the night wears on too long to make the most of it. Satisfied, he veers to the right, angling for a side entrance to the ballroom he recalls seeing while checking into their room several hours before.

     Of the Sexy Nerds trio, Dustin Murray is the flashy, splashy, and easy-going one, so naturally, people gravitate towards him at parties. Adam seeks to do the same, if only because being near his tag-team partner and friend helps keep him relaxed and sociable around the swarm of strangers sure to be gathered around them. Finding the more covert entrance he wants, he opens the door and takes a moment to let the music wash over him before he slides into the room.

     A quick scan of the room tells him all he needs to know about the festivities. The buffet, a promise from the Chairman to his workers, stands on the far end of the room, and the spread looks plentiful, as best he can tell. Nearer to him are a series of round, festively-attired tables, marked with placards to indicate where wrestlers and other VIPs will be expected to sit. A stage sits in the center of the wall to his left, where a band he doesn't recognize thrashes violently for the gathered crowd, which floods the immense dance floor and spreads gradually through the rest of the room. The open bar, which takes up much of the wall to his right, buzzes with activity. The waitresses, dressed as race queens to tie into the Core-exclusive _Global GP Fury_ launch title, scurry about the room, weaving and ducking between people to deliver drinks in a seemingly vain attempt to keep up with the demands of such a large group of people. Not too far from the bar stands the Core Colosseum demo station, where four large televisions play game footage and demo reels promoting the upcoming console. The station, too, teems with fans eager to get their hands on Nintendo's supposedly souped-up hardware.

     Everywhere he looks, there's people. He's looking for one in particular. His stomach growls. He silences with a hand on his torso. There's no way he can cross this ocean of people right now. _That'll have to wait,_ he tells himself.

     Finally, between the bar and the demo station, he sees his partner. The streamlined redhead entertains a small group of guests by twirling a purloined bottle of rum over his head and behind his back. Adam smiles as Dustin pours each of his adoring onlookers a shot before rolling the bottle over his defined arms and shoulders. Adam weaves his way over to the group.

     Out of costume, the ASWF Tag Team champions seem to be living embodiments of their very different hometowns. Dustin Murray carries himself with all the flash, splash, and panache of Las Vegas. When the tag team was first formed, he had introduced himself as “all the dirty fun of Vegas with none of the guilt.” Hell, he still introduces himself that way to fans. Inside and out of the ring, he is every bit the hedonistic, high-risk night owl outsiders imagine must live in Sin City. Adam muses that whenever he sees his tag partner before 6 AM, it's because he hasn't yet turned in for the night. Dustin Murray is the reason nice hotels have 24-hour gyms.

     Adam, the Detroit native, looks like he rolled off one of their long-dormant assembly lines, ready to smash through walls. Broad and rough-looking, steel-boned and imposing, he is the crack of thunder to Dustin's flash of lightning. As a tag team, they work marvellously because of their differences in style and background, as well as their similarities in interests and psychology.

     Dustin spins around and flips the bottle towards the ballroom's vaulted ceiling. The angle of departure tells him that Dustin will never be able to make the catch from where he is. Adam's pace quickens. As the bottle starts descending rapidly from the rafters, he reaches forward and grasps it before it hits the ground.

     “Isn't that just like him?” Adam remarks in the most collected, leisurely tone he can muster. “He just throws out whatever he thinks will look cool and expects me to make sure it doesn't turn into a catastrophe.” He gives the bottle a small flip and pours a shot straight into his gullet.

     Dustin roars with laughter. “I was just telling these fine people about my days as a flash bartender. They wanted to see if I still had some tricks up my sleeve.”

     He gestures to his partner with the bottle. “Was this before or after you were an exotic dancer?”

     Dustin smiles widely. “Just after. I did both for a while until the gay bar I was working at closed up shop.” The people surrounding them burst into varied exclamations of surprise. He shrugs playfully. “Just another way to make money in Sin City.”

     The lone female of the group, a slim blonde in a Carla Cabretta shirt and lilac eyeshadow, chimes in with an overexcited, “Why don't you show us some of those moves, man?”

     Adam likes hovering around Dustin during these fan mixer events. He is a fine storyteller, to be sure, but the ASWF fans want to hear tales of debauchery and misadventure. Adam is a bit short on stories like that. Sure, trying to be this sociable while simultaneously fighting off the secondary effects of a powerful aphrodisiac would count as an anecdote-worthy caper. Not one worth mentioning now, since the ending's still unwritten. These stories are always more amusing if the subject lives to tell the tale. Regardless, the most debauched incident in his past that he cares to relate to the public is a marathon D&D session that devolved, with the assistance of some potent homemade mead, into a barely role-played tavern scene, complete with drunken singing, bragging and bickering in- and out-of-character, broken furniture, and a raucous raid on the local Taco Bell before everyone passed out on the floor of the host's living room until noon the next day. The most harmful part of the whole night was using an enchilito as a pillow, because it led to him violently scrubbing nacho cheese and chili out of his sweat-tangled locks for much of the next afternoon. Not a thrilling story to relay to the masses, and Adam is not comfortable sharing his bedroom stories with the world, so those shenanigans are right out.

     Thus, Adam hangs back a bit and lets Dustin lead the room at times like this, if only because he knows what the crowd wants to hear. Also, it lets him keep an eye on his tag partner, just to make sure Dustin doesn't get too loose in public. This is just how he has to play this game of being sociable.  As he sees his cohort seductively pulling down the second strap of his overalls, largely to the dismay of the groaning collective, he prods him hard with the bottle of Captain Morgan.

     “Cut it out, bro, nobody wants to see your Waluweewee,” he rasps, “least of all me.”

     “Oh come on,” cries the female fan, “live a little!”

     In response, Adam directs Dustin's attention towards the balcony, where a stern-looking Chrom peers in their direction, leaning on the railing to get a better look at the group. “Bossman's looking right at us, so cool it.”

     Dustin shrugs, but stops disrobing. “Tell you what, sweetness,” he starts in, reaching into his pocket. “Why don't you come to my private show tonight?” He flips a business card into his fingers. “Call the front desk and ask for that name. Then, if you're down, we can have some real fun.”

     She takes the offered card. “Maybe I will.”

     “I promise, I won't disappoint.” Dustin blows her a kiss and a wink as she slides the card under her shirt. Adam rolls his eyes as he pours another shot into his mouth. In the distance, a man with a microphone declares, “This is the last call for the pie-eating contest. Can anyone outpace our hungriest new stars? Step up to the main stage and find out!”

     “That's our cue, gang,” says a large man with a red beard that still seems too large for his face. “C'mon, Gabby, you can get laid later.”

     She shoots the man a nasty look, but the group migrates regardless, making its way towards the raised wooden stage behind him. Finally, Dustin and Adam have a moment of relative peace together. Adam hands Dustin the bottle of rum. “Why am I not surprised that you were acting up when I showed up? Could've made a huge mess just there.”

     “You know me, man—I live dangerously.” Dustin pours a shot into a double glass of fizzing brown liquid. Adam mentally guesses it's Dr. Pepper, knowing Dustin's taste for the stuff. “I thought you'd blown this off, Adam.”

     “On Halloween? No way. Didn't get to see everyone's costume yet.”

     Dustin tips his glass towards his partner. “Good to see you're not tweaked out anymore.”

     Adam shrugs. “I'm regulated. Cassie know you're scouting hotel talent?”

     “That's the secret, bro—we're always scouting hotel talent.” Dustin says in a bragging tone. “That's just part of our relationship.”

     “Where is Cassie, anyways? I thought she'd be hanging out with you?”

     Dustin gestures into the distance. “She's pushing her feud with Rose to John Q. Public.” He sips his drink casually. “Where's Katy?”

     “Schmoozing, what else is new?” Adam scans the room again. The congregation at center stage has freed up the buffet line. He claps his partner on the shoulder. “Where's our table? I have a mighty hunger, and it must be sated soon.”

     “Middle row, three tables in. You'll see my belt as the centerpiece.” Dustin catches Adam's glare with a submissive gesture. “Relax, dude. Alfred's got an eye on it.” He points out a man several tables over with a pair of binoculars trained on the belt.

     “Just as long as you actually know where it is.”

     Dustin crosses his heart. “I have learned well the lessons of Mobile, don't you fret.”

     Adam smiles and nods. “Then I think you know where I'll be.”

     Dustin lifts his drink to his partner again. “I'll drink to that. I'll join you in a second—let 'em find us instead for a bit.”

     “That's a plan worth having,” Adam says as he walks towards the table. Dropping off his belt, he assesses the location. It offers a solid view of the entire room, including the upper deck the owners were using as a sort of crow's nest to observe the room. The center stage is at a visible angle, as are all the points of interest he noticed earlier. The Core Colosseum is in especially good view. Adam makes a note to get over there once he's eaten. He weaves between tables with large steps, his eyes fixed on his destination.

     Seven uneventful minutes later, he returns to the table with two plates heaped with noodles, vegetables, meats and pastries. His stomach growls with want. His night has already been long, and it seems like it's still just beginning. He'll need some serious fuel to survive. _I deserve this_ , he thinks, as he settles in for his meal.


	11. Stretching Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroine takes a moment to show everyone just what she's got going on. Actions do have consequences, however...

     Katy glances at the timekeeper's clock. Five minutes remain in the match. She knows her unusual role, to serve as a distraction, is coming soon, and she's just a little bit nervous about that.

     It's not that she has stage fright, far from it. She practically grew up on stages. Her first starring role came at age 11, when she played Miss Hannigan in a local theater group's all-child production of Annie. Her resume grew steadily as the years marched on and she honed her craft—she became a fixture of her middle school's drama department; she was the first freshman to call a varsity basketball game for the student radio station at her old high school; she performed at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival for the first of six times just three weeks before she moved to Dearborn, Michigan, during the summer before her junior year; she was a leader of the Michigan State University drama department while she earned a Bachelor's degree in Theater Arts; and she's already secured a position with the ASWF before April of her senior year in college. The stage was as much her home as, well, her home.

     The problem is one of athletic ability. Sure, she does some low-impact exercise, such as yoga and aerobics, with some of the federation's ladies to maintain her good health and womanly figure. That said, she is not an athlete, has never been an athlete, and has no aspirations of ever being an athlete. She is perfectly content to leave the bumps and bruises of in-ring professionalism to literally everyone else in the company.

     Tonight, however, requires of her a stunt that places her squarely in the line of fire. It seemed easy enough during the practice run earlier today, but her husband was merely walking towards the breakaway barricade at that time, not slamming more than 450 pounds of human flesh through it at top speed. All she has to do, really, is get out of the way in time. Seems easy enough, but Katy can't help but think of everything that could go wrong. She could get stuck on her perch and knocked into the stands, or land wrong and twist her ankle, or get caught in the spot and end up crushed under the scuffle.

     Of course, this active fretting is taking up enough head space to keep her from actually doing her job, leaving JJ Savvy to do the match call all alone—and none so well, at that. When she returns from her self-forecasted catastrophe montage to the present task, she finds him giving her a look at asks where she's been, because she's been missed. If he treads water when she's off-point, he drowns when she's absent.

     “Whoops, you bored me into a stupor, JJ,” she says as she re-enters the scene. _Yesss, dynamic entry_. “Sorry for leaving you in my co-pilot's less-than-capable hands, folks. I assure you, the worst of the turbulence is over, so we should have smoooth sailing for the rest of this match.”

     “Welcome back, you airhead,” comes JJ's reply, soaked with sarcasm. “Care to tell us where you were?”

     She sighs longingly. “Dreaming of flying on Air Murray, if you must know.” A lie. Dustin's certainly a feast for the eyes, but he's got too much ink and too little torso for her liking. She's being asked to really put him over as a heel with sex appeal, though, even if he doesn't really need the help. As she says this, Dustin leaps to the top rope, bracing just a moment to prepare himself for the tumbling Murraysault he's about to attempt. In that moment, Brandon Chang kicks the rope he's precariously perched upon, sending him sprawling to the floor outside.

     “Looks like Air Murray just had a crash landing!”

     Katy smiles wryly at her co-host. _Another glimmer of wit in a desert of cliches._ “Yikes, no kidding,” she responds. “Looks from here like he landed hard on his arm.”

     “Maybe he's got a busted wing now.” _Not the strongest follow-up, but not bad, either,_ she thinks. “The real question is, can The Greatest Show capitalize on this opening?”

     “I doubt it,” Katy spits. “They don't have half a brain between them. P. T. Banner, however...” As she utters these words, the corpulent, top-hatted manager of the somewhat mismatched team saunters over to the fallen redhead and leans over him, his considerable bulk straining the stability of his hooked cane. He looks to be helping Dustin to his feet—until Brandon Chang enters the ring to help his tag partner to his feet. At that point, P. T. Banner splashes Dustin, wounded arm first, into the ring apron, sending him crumpling back to the floor. “And just like that,” she interjects, “Dustin's back on the ground. How very expected.”

     “That's a trip that'll put him in the hangar for repairs, that's for sure.”

     “I think we can let that allegory go now, JJ.”

     “I'm just saying, he's grounded out there, and it doesn't look like he'll be cleared for liftoff anytime soon!”

     “Enough!” she barks. JJ just doesn't want to let go of a joke when he finds one. _Wait_ , she thinks, _is he trying to be the color guy again? I need to bring this back around._ “You're about as stupid and naive as Chang and the Kid are if you seriously think that was an accident! He smartly picked his spot to help his team try to win, if only because these braintrusts wouldn't do anything about it!” Her voice takes on a dopey tone of mockery. “Oh, why'd he fall down again? Was it magic? Better flash gang signs to the crowd, just to be safe!” As a final insult, she mutters, “Morons,” as she settles back into her chair, arms crossed.

     “H-hey, give them some credit, Kate!” He catches her cue and slides firmly back onto the side of the faces. “They're plenty smart, and those aren't gang signs! They're just trying to win the crowd over!”

     “What a waste of time.”

     During the back-and-forth, Dustin rolls back into the ring. As Brandon Chang goes back to the apron, the Vancouver Kid hits Dustin with a running dropkick to the weakened shoulder that causes him to crumple over. He rolls onto his back just in time to get smashed by a standing moonsault from his in-ring foe. “25 minutes have passed in this match!” calls the bellman over the arena's PA system.

     She checks the clock. _Just over four minutes left in the match. Time for my cameo._ She stands casually. “This match is going a bit long, JJ,” she says. “I've got to stretch my back out a little. Take over for a bit, will ya?”

     JJ knows what's going on, so he knows to sell it with a bit of indignation and surprise. “W-wait,” he stammers, “you can't just leave!”

     “Oh relax, I'll just be over here.” These are the last words the television audience hears before she takes off her headset and walks around the table. She positions herself off the right corner of the table. She positions herself off the right corner of the table, just outside of JJ's peripheral vision, but well within the eyeshot of Brandon Chang. Once in position, she begins a basic stretching routine she's memorized from her yoga lessons. Well, okay, a modified routine, at any rate. It starts innocently enough when she pushes on the small of her back. As she slowly draws her arms upwards and pushes her voluptuous frame onto the balls of her feet for a beginner's Sun Salutation pose, taking extra care to draw attention to her large breasts and plump, firm rear, her true intent becomes clear to the audience. Some of the fans in the front rows turn their attentions from the ring, where Dustin kicks out of the Vancouver Kid's crucifix pin hold at a late two count, when they realize they might be about to get a different kind of show for no extra charge.

     “Well, folks, I-I'm not entirely sure what my broadcast partner is up to,” JJ ekes out nervously, “but she's starting to attract some lookie-loos from the audience with this unprofessional little stunt. I'm going to try to soldier on without her, and keep our attention on the match at hand.”

     She moves on to the next pose, oblivious to his in-character criticism. She slowly bends over at the waist to touch her toes. While the benefits of this pose for her back are questionable, there is no denying that it makes her ass look incredible in her booty shorts. The crowd certainly appreciates the view, and they're not the only ones. Brandon Chang makes quite a show of fanning himself and chuckling with teenage glee—especially when Kate turns to him and winks. P. T. Banner whacks his distracted charge in the thighs with his cane to get his attention back to the match, but when Kate drapes herself dramatically over the barricade, thrusting her breasts into the air in the process, and blows him a kiss, Brandon Chang, an eternal playboy in and out of the ring, is officially a lost cause. As Banner tries to keep his charge on the apron with a combination of cajoling and his physical girth, Kate rolls her body suggestively on the barricade, bringing her elbows to rest on the orange foam rubber cover of the wooden, hip-high wall that, most of the time, separates the fans from the action. She bats bedroom-ready eyes at one blushing young fan and casually flirts with the rest of the nearby front row, pendulous breasts brushing slightly against the top of the barrier.

     She couldn't help herself. Well, she could, but why bother? It's her thrill to be the center of attention, and to draw such a reaction from the live crowd by herself—it's exciting, it's different, it's daring, and it's all part of the show. It's exhilirating, knowing that all of these men—young and old, rich and poor, all races and creeds—want to crawl into bed with her right now. Not just for the vanilla stuff, either, no no. She knows all too well what sorts of horrid depravities they'd like to visit upon her for their own sexual satisfaction. She's famous, she's good looking, and she's in a field that, for all of its social, equality-minded advancements, still draws a largely teens-to-mid-30s male audience. She's seen scores of filthy fanworks on the web that feature her as protagonist and punisher, villain and victim, and everything in between. It's all part of the package, distasteful though it may be.  Usually, it's just good enough for a laugh, nothing to get worked up over.

     Tonight, however, this wanton display and these dirty thoughts are really making her horny. She's having a very hard time staying professional, to be honest. Right now, she wouldn't mind if someone snuck up behind her, slid her shorts down to her ankles, and shoved their hot, rock-hard cock into her sopping wet pussy on national television. Well, that's a bit of a lie. There's really one person in the arena tonight that she'd really want to attack her like that, and if he's following the plan, he should be well in view of her, skulking his way closer to her. She glances quickly at the ring behind her. Nobody's left standing in the ring, and nobody's standing on the apron, either. She smiles knowingly as Brandon Chang saunters up to her, his voice barely registering above the din around her. He poses self-assuredly before her. She bats her eyes.

_All part of the show._


	12. Peckerhunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We return to Adam, who is quickly tiring of the party. He decides to venture into the fray and go looking for trouble. Wonder if he finds any...

     He drums his fingers on the table. His leg bounces rapidly, betraying his loosening grip on the situation. He can tell that his medicine is wearing off quickly, and he is growing tired of the crowd even faster.

     Not that he didn't have a good time. The alarm he'd set passed unnoticed while he pounded a series of fans in _ASWF 2027_ 's Party Gauntlet mode before finally being felled by a slender fan wearing a White Lightning mask. The fan had cheated like a mad bastard throughout the match, but after five straight victories, the last one by a lucky lead pipe KO, Adam couldn't begrudge him the chicanery and graciously bowed out after signing the guy's mask.

     The hour after that has been spent holding court with various fans, either breaking from or uninterested in the dance floor, and helping himself to apple cider and bat-shaped turnovers that bled cherry and blackberry filling when he bit into them. His favorite encounter of the hour was easily the fan, no more than twenty, who'd tracked him down for an expert opinion on this fanciful armor costume. When prodded, the young man revealed that he had recently joined a live-action roleplaying group at his university, mainly to catch the eye of a pretty classmate who enjoyed slinging NERF arrows in the woods and had a thing for wearing velvet over leather.

     Adam had to respect that, and not just from an aesthetic viewpoint. He was an expert on the matter, after all. Sure, the Big Ten Conference never officially recognized a conference champion in team LARPing, but the four trophies on his mantle, each one declaring the Michigan State Spartans as the ultimate victor of a three-day, round robin, Big Ten-only LARP tournament, seemed official enough to him. Besides, no actual NCAA involvement meant that the organizers could use advertising revenue and team entry fees as they saw fit, including as prize money for the top three teams and funding for a grand banquet at the end of each year's affair, where the tired, bruised would-be warriors feasted like kings and forgave the harsh words and blows they'd rained upon each other in the field earlier in the weekend. Adam had won hard victories and fast friends on those fields, and Katy still wears the flowing, corset-laced dress he'd purchased with his cut of his freshman year's championship pot.

     After giving him a kind, but honest opinion on the piece, calling it out for being far too ornate for practical use and far too bulky for use by a ranger, they swapped stories and ideas about building weapons for a good twenty minutes before the younger man left to check in with his friends. For a while, Adam put himself again in the armor-clad boots of Sir Manfrid, Lord of the Iron Keep, Boss of the Fordite Mines, Hero of the Battles of Brinbeard and Qiltinsa, and Ruin of the Orkun Kingdom, as he teaches one of his human squires to master the flames and the ores deep beneath his mountainside abode, his nostrils flaring with each criticism he makes and his black eyes shining with each well-earned praise he delivers. The squire brings before him new ideas from the village, ideas the lord may consider before next dipping his hands into his private forge. If only he could return to his lady now, resting in her bedchambers, ready to please him as she alone can.

    As it is, Adam now only has his thoughts to occupy him, since Dustin bailed back to the floor for more boozing, and he can feel his mood souring again. His hunger for food is more than sated, and his hunger for company is plenty fulfilled, but he hungers still for...something more. He can feel fatigue setting in, but a familiar stirring is overwhelming the malaise and manifesting itself as nervous tremors.

     The noise melts away as he sees her in the distance. His thoughts turn to her shameless display from earlier. She is gorgeous, and she knows it. He sees her stunning body, perfectly placed to tease and instigate, her front half taunting the fans while her back half tempts his coworkers. Perfection. He sees her on her knees in front of him, sodden panties curled around her right ankle, an angel paying him tribute in words and deeds alike. He doesn't deserve her, but one never has to deserve the one they love most. He will fight this weariness. He must! She's put on a fine show for him tonight, and what a lovely surprise her costume turned out to be! No wonder she'd kept it a secret. She deserves to have him at his best tonight. He feels the flicker of passion growing hotter and brighter with each passing moment. It radiates through his tired body, reinvigorating him with the night's infinite promise.

     The emcee introduces the last band of the night and snaps Adam out of his daydream. He resolves to blow this popsicle stand and get out of here. That'll get him away from the teeming masses and get him that much closer to being inside her for the rest of the night. A win-win situation...as soon as he can find her. In his reverie, she's gotten lost in the crowd again. He figures he should tell someone what he's up to, so they wouldn't be missed.

     He stands up just as his tag partner hops over a chair to reach their table. Dustin's angular, streamlined face is screwed up in a concerned grimace. Adam frowns. That's never a good sign. Still, he forces a jovial tone out of his throat. “What's up, Red?”

     “'Tis no good, sweet poflo.” Wuh-oh. This coded response always means there's a bad situation at hand. Adam snaps to attention and beckons Dustin to continue with a roll of his wrist. “Some fan's dicking around dead drunk and harassing the ladies.”

     Adam rolls his eyes. _Typical. There's almost always one..._ “Like that's unique? Call security on his ass, that's what they're here for!”

     “He's moving pretty fast, actually. Even I can't keep up without jumping on people's heads.” Dustin sweeps his arm around the room. “I'm just telling everyone I can find to keep an eye out for the jerk.”

     Adam shrugs in disinterest. “I'll keep an eye out, but I'm about to grab Katy and jet outta here for some tricks and treats, so forgive me if I don't stick around for a peckerhunt.”

     Dustin laughs like a dirty old man outside a peep show. “I'm surprised you stuck around this long.” His face relaxes. “You sure you can't help us chuck the chucklefuck?”

     Adam smirks. “Dude'll get his face broken before the night's over if he keeps this up. Matter of fact, I'll put a ten spot on Mags to do it. That said, I'm not interested in being here when it happens. Need to maintain an alibi in case something does go down.” He quickly loops his belt around his waist, snapping it snugly to his belly. He's sure the bloating will go down by tomorrow. “Speaking of Katy, I lost her in the crowd just now. Have you seen her?”

     Dustin points to the far corner of the room. “Last I saw her, she was 'making peace' between Darryl and Kadijah. I'd wager she's still over there.”

     “Thanks, bro,” Adam says, flashing a thumbs-up. “What's the clown look like?”

     “Real thin, tallish, dressed like Solid Snake. Spread the word.”

     “Got it.” He begins sliding past the tables and into the less-congested aisle leading towards the buffet. He pines for the seclusion of the arena's abandoned hallways as his eyes cut over the field, looking for flashes of blue or a dork in drab gray. He soon realizes just how irrelevant color is amidst the violently strobing lights around him. He cannot cue on her voice, stifled like all other voices in the room by the torrent of ghoulish rockabilly being banged out by the headliner band. Her perfurme doesn't rise above the scents of sweat and meat that now permeate the air. His head spins in confusion as his eyes search for a needle in a noisy, psychadelic haystack. He grits his teeth in frustration, feeling a bit thwarted by the fact that luck alone will help him now. He barely registers the harried hostess as she brushes past him, his eyes quickly buzzing over her slight frame and rejecting her as his target. As he glances over her arm, he notices a strange drink on the lady's tray. At the edge of a field of cosmos and appletinis and other gimmicky elixirs of all shapes and colors sits a lone high ball glass filled with brown liquid and four maraschino cherries.

     He knows that the ladies backstage can hold their liquor, generally speaking. He also knows of only lady who would use such a big glass for a more masculine drink. Manhattan, extra whiskey, four cherries—that's Katy's drink of choice. This hostess, who he'd barely considered before, is now the center of his attention. If he follows her, she'll lead him straight to his prey.

     A simple plan, but not without a nasty flaw. The drinkbearer is bobbing and weaving through the crowd with the practiced dexterity of Barry Sanders. He struggles to keep an eye on her outstretched tray as she delivers drink after drink to the collected masses. It's a losing game for him, so he abandons the idea of directly pursuing her. Instead, he tries to trace a logical line to her final destination. She appears to be making her way to the corner towards the right, just beyond an obtrusive speaker. He makes a beeline for the corner. Is he hallucinating, or can he taste Katy's own liquor in the very air now? His desire burns brightly in his chest. His prey must be near. He whips around the booming subwoofer and sees the flashes of blue he's been looking for. He takes a moment to drink her in. She is a beauty draped against the wall, but something is amiss. Her face is drawn into the fakest, most pained shit-eating grin he's ever seen her wear. Her legs are positioned such that she appears to be trying to casually force herself through the concrete wall at her back. He's never seen her in this amount of sheer discomfort before. He scans her immediate area to see what's troubling her. When he sees a rail-thin arm pasted to the wall near her head, all is made clear. His mood darkens as he sees the arm is clad in drab gray cloth.

     Another would-be hunter has cornered his prey. Looks like he's going to get involved in the pecker hunt, after all.

 


	13. The Man Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katy's a very alluring lure. Can she get her man (in place)?

     She can hear his feet hit the floor. She knows he's just a few steps away. She turns nonchalantly to face him, her bedroom eyes still in full effect. “Hi there,” she says seductively.

     “Hey girl, what's up?” Brandon Chang is many things—a third-generation Chinese-American, a decent short-order cook, and moderately successful Lothario—but short on confidence is something he never is. “Can I help you back to your seat, sweetheart? It's dangerous out here.”

     “Oh, don't worry about me, Brandon,” she says, batting her eyelashes. “I happen to be in the market for some danger.” She rests her backside against the barricade, making her bosoms as prominent as she reckons network TV will allow. “Got some for me, big guy?”

     His smile is broad and easy as he cocks his head to the right. “I'm not so dangerous, but I can thrill you just the same. You sure you wanna do this out here?”

     She cuts her eyes to the ceiling. “What are we going to do out here?” she asks as innocently as she can. She knows the next cue, but she hopes Brandon remembers what to do. If he's out of place, the spot's sure to be blown.

     “That's up to you, sweet thang,” he purrs, propping his arm against the barricade. She curses him silently. It looks good for the scene, but now he's blocking her only escape route. “We could just go for it, right? But we don't wanna educate the kids too much, do we?”

     That's her cue. She seats herself on the barricade and tucks her knees up to her chest. Slowly, gracefully, she slides her legs onto the narrow top of the hip-high wall. She struggles slightly to maintain her balance in the doing, but as she props herself on her hands and bends her left leg, showing off its shapely thickness, the crowd behind her goes mad with incredulous want. Her knees nearly touches Brandon's chin where he stands. “I don't know, big boy,” she intones seductively. “You sure you can handle all of me?”

     His eyes go wide as dinner plates as his eyes run up the length of her body. A low wolf whistle escapes his throat. To her continued annoyance, he still hasn't stopped standing in her way. _Oh goody,_ she thinks, _he's completely forgotten his blocking._ “I don't know, girlie, but damn, I'd love to try.” His voice is playfully suave, with a surprising undercurrent of sincerity, and not without a certain goofy charm. For just a moment or two, she can see what many other women see in Brandon Chang when they flip for him. He's not her type, but he's definitely somebody's type. “You think you can handle all the love I've got to give?”

     She sees Adam Gerin at the other side of the floor. He's propped up on all fours, kicking his feet against the padded concrete floor like a bull preparing to maul an unwitting matador. If she has to hazard a guess, she'd likely say his face is set in a similar expression of rankling fury. The spot needs to go off NOW, and she knows it. “Maybe I can,” she says, trying to plant the suggestion for him to move closer to her head directly into his thick head. He strokes his chin in mock thought and nods for the audience, but refuses to budge. Her attempt at telepathy stymied, she resolves to use a less subtle approach and waves him over with a hand, her voice growing more amorous. “If you feel up to it after the match, come find me.”

     He draws slightly closer. “Where're you staying?”

     “I'll whisper it in your ear, loverboy.”

     With that, she reaches over and pulls him up to her head by his arm. His easy smile says confidence, but his eyes betray intense queasiness. She finally sees it. He's been stalling for time, hoping the match could finish up before this spot goes off. She grimaces out of concern for him. _Sorry man, but this is happening,_ she thinks. As he leans toward her head, she pulls his ear next to her mouth.

     “Just relax,” she whispers. “It'll suck less that way.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on a Halloween-themed fic after Christmas. No shame in this game!
> 
> Also, I forgot to advertise the chapter before this one. You should go back and look at it, too!
> 
> All comments/concerns can be brought up in the comments section, so use that bitch!


	14. I Need a Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation leads to the promise of a new adventure...

_Just relax,_ she tells herself. _Don't let this guy get your dander up._ Then, in an even tone, barely more audible than a whisper, she tells the man in front of her, “Run home, little man. I think I hear your mother calling. It's gotta be past your curfew by now.”

     It's meant as a joke, sure, but all mirth ran from her body exactly four minutes ago. Looking at the slimeball in front of her, it's easy to see why. Exactly five minutes ago, she was cornered by this man, who looks like he might have a sewer rat as a distant blood relation. With bloodshot eyes, a malnourished physique, and skin so pale is practically glows in the dark, this man is doubtlessly a hot mess. Yet here he is, this noxious, basement-dwelling fuckboy in a lovingly homemade Solid Snake costume, making ham-fisted innuendos at her and staunchly refusing to take “no” for an answer. Right now, she's just stalling for time until somebody comes to give her backup and get her out of there. Security, one of the wrestlers, one of the ASWF higher-ups—Hell, a benevolent fan would be a welcome sight right now.

     This whole encounter had started well, with her being charming and cordial, but as he made it more and more clear that he was only interested in getting into her pants, she'd assumed a bored, defensive position and started deflecting his trite come-ons with verbal jabs and parries that she hoped would encourage him to go play in traffic. She'd even resorted to trying telepathy again—still no luck. Finally resigned to the fact that she just doesn't have latent mutant powers, Katy waits there for someone to bail her out. Sure, the impulse to suckerpunch the cad in the throat and bolt has struck her, but putting your hands on a fan in aggression, as opposed to self-defense or appreciation, flagrantly violates the ASWF Employee Code of Ethics, which is a fantastic way to get marched in front of the Silvers and, possibly, fired. She might be able to roll a good Convince check tomorrow morning, what with her natural Charisma modifiers and sexual harassment as a legitamite justification, but she decides to save that idea as a last resort. Why risk breaking his Adam's apple, or worse, getting her hand caught, when her words are keeping him at a distance, if not repelling him outright?

     “Please, my lady, you simply must join me as I retire for the night.” He's been spouting this hackeneyed take on gentlemen's diction since she'd intimated that she preferred well-spoken men, which was a damned lie. It was lightly amusing at first, but quickly wore on her nerves, which perfectly sums up how she felt about this particular maroon. “We both seem to have a talent for witty repartee—perhaps we should go someplace more private and spar?” His voice is phlegmy and working hard to put on airs of importance. She can't help but sneer at him while he continues. “You won't have to keep your voice so low where I have in mind. Give me a chance, m'lady, and I think you'll find I'm quite skilled in a...wide variety of areas that you might find...pleasing.”

     She can feel the bile rising in her throat. What's really sick is that, at some basal level, her roaring arousal isn't being staunched by this repulsive cheeseball of a man. She needs to get laid, but her mind reels at the concept of him as a sexual creature. She swallows hard to compose herself. “Word of advice, little man—don't throw rocks at a woman with a machine gun.”

     Something finally got through there. Maybe it was the reference to Roddy Piper.  His face screws up a bit into something resembling offense, but before he can retort, she cuts him off with a flippant gesture. “You've been a real barrel of laughs,” she continues, “but your vain persistence forces me to be very blunt. I've been trying to say this in a polite way for the last five minutes, but it hasn't gotten through your thick head yet, so let me spell it out for you.” The affable good humor she wields, cultivated from her father, gives way to her mother's in-born frankness and irritability. “I do not want to 'spar' with you, verbally or otherwise. I do not want to hear about your idea for a _Card Captor Sakura/Doctor Who/Adventure Time_ crossover erotic fanfiction.” She wipes a line of sweat from her brow. Did it get hotter in here? “I surely do not want you to show me your etchings, nor do I want to snuggle up to your _daimakura_ and hear about your collection of exotic knives, which I'm just  so sure you're great at both wielding and throwing, even if the balance is off. I don't care about all the indy-ass jobbers you've changed tires for at the Grease Monkey at exit 118, because frankly, I'm on a first-name basis with ASWF and WWE Hall of Famers alike, men you'd sell your testicles just to meet. I don't want to fuck you; I just want you to fuck off. Are we clear?”

     Now he looks stunned more than anything. He pulls away from the wall and tries desperately to laugh it off. “Hey now,” he begins, his voice rising three octaves, “how's that any way to talk to a fan, huh?”

     She cocks an eyebrow. “This stopped being a fan meeting when you asked me if I thought my tits would make good pillows or not.”

     He throws up his hands in frustration. “Well, this is just great!” he exclaims, pointing a spindly finger accusingly at her face. “Here, I thought we were having a good time, and now I find out you're just stringing me along!”

     “Actually, I've been insulting you for a while now—you've just been too drunk and vain to notice.”

     “Vain?!” he sputters. _Oh great_ , she thinks. _Now he's going to be huffy and indignant. My favorite._ “I bet I'm the most humble, intelligent, and down-to-earth guy in this whole room of jockstraps and sheeple!” He crosses his arms in frustration. “Y'know, you bitches are all the same! You find some nice guy like me and you kick him around without giving him a chance so you can ride off into the sunset with some knuckle-dragging Chad Thundercock who's probably going to slap you around!”

     She smirks as she sees his gentlemanly facade shatter like sugarglass. _His kind are all the same. Just a matter of time, really._ “Awww, give us bitches some credit,” she coos. “I'm sure woman in this building would reject your phony, bony ass in a way different than mine. All for the same reasons, probably, but there's a variety of ways we can tell you, in particular, to eat shit and die.” Her voice hardens as she continues. “Here's some advice—perspective, if you will. Just because you haven't been convicted of a capital offense doesn't mean you're not a dick, and it sure doesn't mean that you're going to get someone's affection like a damn door prize, so stop acting so entitled because you dressed yourself and didn't run over any trick-or-treaters on your way here.”

     Damn, she loves calling people on their bullshit. Maybe she loves it just a bit too much. She can feel her face getting hot again. Her body is starting to whine for satisfaction again, but her mind is pulling hard on the reins out of fear that it might, in its addled condition, consider this slimy protoman a viable mate. His expression, a canvas of hurt pride and impotent rage, isn't helping matters. She needs backup, and fast, before she does something truly regrettable. The joker starts to speak again, but his words are drowned out by a hearty “WAAA HAHAHAHA!”

     She smiles at the massive, menacing, moustachioed man behind her roadblock. Finally, her knight in shining overalls. Her joy is replaced with confusion, however, when he wraps his arm around the smaller man's slender shoulders.

     “Hey there, pal,” he says in a higher, tinnier version of his usual gruff grumble, “how's it going?”

     The smaller man stammers slightly before responding. “As you can see, this charming lady and I were discussing our plans for the evening.”

     “Were ya now?” He peeks over at Katy. “From the looks of it, her plans don't include you, shrimpy.”

     “Yes, well, we're trying to get over that hump, and we don't need your help.”

     The man clad in yellow and purple repositions himself next to her. “On the contrary! Looks to me like you really could use the help of the great Wario! I'm in a good mood, too, so it's free! That's a steal, since Wario is a master at picking up chicks.”

     “Are you now?” Scrawny Snake cocks an eyebrow as best as he can.

     “Of course! What woman, in this or any world, wouldn't want some of this beefcake?!” The larger man flexes expressively, showing off his thick arms and impressive biceps. “Now look, kid. Picking up chicks is simple, right?” He bends down slightly. “The key is to use your legs!” In one smooth motion, he heaves Katy onto his shoulder. She lets out a small yelp as she's taken off her feet for the second time tonight. “It helps to have broad shoulders to balance her on, too! WAAA HAHAHA! Now, she's coming home with me!”

     Scrawny Snake raises a hand in protest. “Now wait a second, I was talking to her first!”

     “Doesn't mean you've got dibs, pal! If the great Wario sees something he likes, he TAKES it! You should be more like me!” He turns his head towards the upended lady's face. “Were you done here?”

     She smiles again. “Yes, yes I am.”

     He laughs more heartily this time. “Then the great Wario says this conversation is over, loser!” With that, he yanks the bandana over Snake's eyes and walks off toward the nearest door, guffawing all the while.

     Enraged, the smaller man scrambles to remove his blindfold. As the light once more hits his eyes, he sees two security guards, both much larger and much more stern-looking than his target.

     “We've had a complaint about you harassing some of the guests,” explains the one on his left.

     His attempts to respond come out as choked gibbering.

     “We need you to come with us, sir.”

     As the harasser is escorted out of the room, Katy raises her glass to him mockingly. “Nice Refuge in Audacity, Adam, but you kinda killed the lesson I was trying to teach him,” she comments between sips.

     “That's a funny way of saying, 'Thanks for the lift.'” His voice is back to its normal tone, but she recognizes the same husky raspiness from their earlier interlude. _Good_ , she thinks. _He's just as horny as I am._ “It'll give him something to bitch about on 4chan tonight while he's waiting for his _Bible Black_ 4-pack torrent to finish downloading,” he continues with a smirk.

     “Personal experience?”

     He scoffs. “You know my feelings about 4chan by now, Katy.”

     “You had to find out somehow,” she muses. She writhes her hips on his shoulder and hums lovingly. “Can we get out of here, babe? My feet are getting tired.”

     “Relax, love,” he laughs. “You won't be on your feet for the rest of the night.”

     The smile on her face turns naughty. She asks, “Will I be on my back, then?”

     “Oh yes.”

     “And my knees?” She moans out the last syllable for emphasis.

     “Absolutely.” Both truths.

     She lets out a low, longing laugh. “Sounds wonderful.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Shit on the "Internet Nice Guy" trope? Surely not...


	15. Heavy Damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say, other than this chapter's quite a breakthrough.

     “He's ready,” she whispers. “Are you?”

     “No,” he confides. “Why couldn't Mark do this spot?”

     Katy recalls that The Vancouver Kid is wearing a full-body costume specifically to hide the flak jacket he has to wear tonight. “His ribs are still tender. Yours aren't.” Her legs are tense, ready to slide her out of danger's way. She just hopes that she can see him take off in time.

     The crowd is white hot, but divided in attention. Some are cheering The Vancouver Kid as he counters Dustin's hurricanrana attempt by keeping his balance and crashing into the now-prone attacker with a Lionsault for a two count. Some are encouraging Katy to come sit in their laps. Some, children and women mostly, are trying desperately to win Chang's affection by warning him of his impending doom or distracting him from Katy's charms. Of course, there are some chanting in anticipation of seeing Adam splatter the pretty-boy across the mats. The important thing is, everyone in the arena is invested in this match. They swell in anticipation. So does Katy. Adam nods from afar. It's time. She leans up and wraps her arms around her knees, still in Brandon's ear. Adam takes off in a dash, low to the ground. His head barely gets above the apron's top.

     “Turn now!” is the last thing she whispers in his ear before she hurriedly dismounts the barricade, sidestepping the breakaway panel. Mere milliseconds after Brandon turns around, Adam slams full-tilt into his abdomen with a shoulder spear that he's performed since he was five, when he'd get into trouble for practicing it on his baby sister's oversized plush dalmatian. The force of the move sends both men into the barricade with a mighty thump. This is expected. What isn't expected is the distinct twang of metal snapping that accompanies the wall giving way and crashing to the floor. As the crowd goes ballistic for the devastating spot, Katy is struck with a sudden, dire thought.

_That WAS the breakaway panel I was sitting on...right?_

 


	16. Is it Secret?  Is it Safe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two lovebirds finally sneak away from the flock. How should they warm up their private, exclusive little nest?
> 
> As if you don't already know that answer...lay back and relax, everyone. The main event is just starting...

     The door swings open, banging loudly against the wall. Katy winces slightly. The clatter sounds much closer to her ear than she might like.

     She'd thought he was loopy when he'd spent upwards of two hours poring over the Moonrise Hotel's floor plans earlier that week. Purportedly, he was scouring the deep web dregs out of boredom one weekend during his training days in Border City Wrestling when he stumbled upon a particular urban legend. According to legend, when the Moonrise Hotel changed ownership in 2007, the new owner converted an unused storage room into an exclusive VIP lounge, the sole purpose of which was to facilitate the secret dealings and trysts of the famous and important. Requiring a passphrase at the time of room reservation, a series of five codewords at check-in, and a twelve-digit combination on the card-reading door lock, the Royal Annex is, supposedly, the last word in luxury, romance, and discretion. The one downside, of course, is that the one-hour time limit is strictly enforced—some say by a nasty giant of a bellhop, some say by an audio system piping in the sounds of a slaughterhouse, some say by a steady stream of fluorine gas fed into the room. Upon seeing the passphrase “revealed” in the same forum topic, Adam accepted the challenge of finding it—and recording it for posterity.

     Usually, Katy gladly buy a companion ticket for Adam's flights of fancy, but something about all of this struck her as suspicious. Until she'd heard the card reader beep joyfully at them just a second ago, she was sure this was some elaborate prank he was playing on her in order to nail her in front of a group of accountants or acupuncturists of something equally depraved and irreverent. That's just his way. She squeals as he flings her onto a cushion of silk and velvet, her drink sloshing out of its glass and onto her hand.

     Adam looks around the room, awestruck. He found it, and it's cooler than he'd imagined. The Royal Annex is a totally circular room with one door, no windows, and a giant skylight for a roof. The walls are a deep mahogany wood panel, with rich accents of gold light fixtures and purple velvet panels. There is a small but well-stocked bar against the far arc, with some trays of assorted fruits and high-end chocolates placed on the bar itself. Tempting, yes, but the most sumptuous part of the room has to be the round, red bed that his wife is currently writhing luxuriously upon.

     “Damn, this feels great,” she says as he rapidly whips out his phone and starts taking pictures of their plush surroundings, sure to keep the lens unobstructed. The door clicks shut behind them. “When we get home,” she continues, “remind me to put the silk sheets on the bed. I'd forgotten how good this felt.”

     “Just so long as we put the vinyl sheet underneath that,” he responds. Satisfied with his pictures, he puts the phone away. “Thinking on it, I never did get that 'thank you'.” He smiles a crooked smile at her.

     She gives him a coy smile in return. She is grateful he came around when he did—she couldn't foresee things getting any better after her stream of composure-withering insults, even if it felt like the only good and just thing for her to do in the face of such adversity. “Ah, my knight! How could I ever repay your act of gallantry in my hour of greatest need?” Her voice is just a bit overdramatic, but his smile tells her it's appreciated.

     “You can start by making yourself more comfortable, babe.”

     She bounces slightly on the cushy bed. “I don't know, this is already pretty comfy,” she muses with a tone mocking naivete. Her eyes gaze conspiratorially at Adam as she reaches for the straps of her costume. “Or did you mean these?” His eyes light up as the smile on his face grows wider. “I thought you might.” She snakes her arms under the straps and slides the straps off of her shoulders in one smooth motion. “I have to admit,” she purrs as she lies back down, “that does feel much better.”

     He casts a shadow over her lounging figure. She is a knockout, no doubt about it. He kneels in front of her, head between her thighs. He takes a great sniff of her loins, intoxicating himself on the heady aroma that is hers alone. Before he can nuzzle her more closely, she draws his chin up with a single finger.

     “No need to rush to the main course, dear.”

     He seems slightly perturbed. “I need you, Katy. I need you bad. I think you need me too. You sure don't need any help getting there, I'll tell you that for free.”

     “Maybe not, but there's something to be said for...lingering over the appetizers.” She fingers the bottom line of her light blue top. “Don't tell me you've lost your appetite?”

     Adam's grin widens in anticipation, a wordless denial.

     “It's amazing, really,” she comments as she toys with her top. “We've been an item for, what, six years now?”

     “That sounds about right, yeah,” he mumbles in a distracted monotone, his eyes following her hands and their every move.

     “Yet still, I can hold you in place with the tease, just a tease, of my tits. Are they really that great?”

     “And better.”

     She grins. “Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I can't blame you.”

     Adam takes initiative. He clambers on top of her, pinning her to the bed with his hips. With a practiced motion, he swipes her top up to her neck from the bottom while deeply kissing her. She breaks the kiss to slowly draw a finger over her bra, a satiny black number with purple lace trim and silver pinstriping. “Well, this is new,” he comments in an almost reverent tone.

     “A little something I bought from Frederick's when it went on clearance back in June. They had one left in my size—I just couldn't pass it up.”

     “They don't carry much in 38DD, so I'm not shocked.”

     He tenderly massages her breasts, hands over the fabric, rolling them in small loops without stretching them. She hums with pleasure under the soothing pressure. She can feel his swollen member against her pelvis as his fingers start snaking underneath the underwire. She wants every bit of him. His fingers feel warm against her as she undoes the straps of his costume, letting them fall to the wayside.

     “Let me help you with that,” she murmurs, reaching for the tiny purple bow between the bra's cups. She unhooks the front of her bra with a shift of her hands. It falls away dramatically.

     She is a feast for the eyes. She lies in repose, her smile expectant. Ruddy red nipples, partially stiffened by the cool air around them, charmingly crown her milky-white mounds. The criss-crossed straps lie across her smooth belly, waiting for him to pull them down past her shorts. She's kicked her boots off at some point. _No matter,_ he thinks. _She won't need 'em._ He couldn't be more in love with someone than he is with her. He also wants to ravage her. He wants to turn her into a sticky, panting, sweating, exhausted, used-up slut. She's made it obvious in the past that she wants to be his personal fucktoy when she's horny, and right now, posed and exposed like she is, he's quite content to use her like one.

     “Whatcha waitin' on, Adam?” Her voice is heavy with anticipation. “Don't tell me you want me to get cold feet?”

     “No chance,” he laughs. “But, if you need to cool off a bit...” He fishes the cherries out of her cocktail.

     “What are you up to? You can't still be hungry?”

     “We both know there's always room for cherries.” He tosses two in the air. One he catches with his mouth, but the other bounces off his chin and lands on her neck. Its cool fluid pools briefly on her throat, until she snatches the fruit and pops it in her mouth. “Three for me, one for you.”

     “Hey, no fair,” she pouts. “Cherries are my favorite.”

     He pauses to consider, then leans onto her, pushing the fruit between her waiting lips. His tongue lingers for a moment, brushing over hers before he breaks the kiss.

     “Fine. Two for you, two for me.” He takes the remaining cherries and opens up the holes with a pinch. While they had warmed slightly in his hand, she still gasps and shivers a bit as he places them over her nipples. The chill thrills her to the core. He leans back down, lovingly lapping up the concoction that trickles down her bosoms as the boozy fruits slowly warm up on her. He licks his way up her left breast, dragging his tongue around her nipple in a lazy spiral that tickles as much as it teases. When he finally comes around to the center, he gently bites down on her chilly, fully-erect nipple. She moans with relief and pleasure as he drags his teeth over the soft, ridged tissue, taking the cherry with him.

     As he begins paying further attention to her breast, nipping and suckling with increasing force, she lays back and relaxes, letting the beautiful sensations flow freely through her body. She'll pick up any slack later. Right now, she'll gladly lay back and enjoy the ride.

 


	17. Pop Quiz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude back to the ring, as Katy settles in for the rest of the match.

     She grabs the apron and pulls herself back to her feet. Nothing hurts, and that's good. The first thing she sees when she's back on her feet looks like the end result of a test question written by the sardonic physics teacher every high school teacher in the continental United States has in its employ:

Q 21: Person B, who weighs 180 lbs, is standing still. There is a wall 1.5 feet behind Person B. Person A weighs 275 lbs and accelerates from a standstill towards Person B at a constant rate of 10.6 ft/s2 from 8 yards away.

(2 points) How long does it take Person A to collide with Person B?

 

 

(2 points) How much force does Person A impart upon Person B at the time of impact?

 

 

 (3 points) What are Person B's chances of getting off the floor within the next 3 minutes?

-Not very good, especially when you consider there's a 350-pound man sailing above him, poised to crush him like he's my dreams of actually being respected by my peers and students.

     It's a bit surreal, watching a man as large as P. T. Banner fly briefly through the air. _Wasn't Adam supposed to hang onto him?_ Katy wonders this while the crowd explodes with exclamations of awe, wonder, and bloodlust. She hopes Brandon got his shoulders up in time to soften the blow. A body hits the mat behind her. Adam bellows furiously at his fallen foes. _Time to get while the gettin's good._ Katy makes her way back to the desk, where JJ waits for her, a worried look on his face. He mouths, “You okay?” She nods as she slides her headphones over her ears.

     “Welcome back, Kate. Looks like you had an interesting little walkabout there.”

     She settles back into her chair. “Oh, it was invigorating, no doubt. But JJ,” she says, her tone taking a serious turn, “you know I usually see things Banner's way, but he really got what he had coming there.”

     “Really now,” JJ drones.

     “Absolutely! He put his hands on a combatant, in the middle of the match, so he got chucked! That's just how things work around here. Moreover,” she continues emphatically, “he put his hands on a non-combatant, namely me, and if he does it again, I'm gonna get in Mrs. Silver's ear and get him sacked! Then where'll these little dopes be?”

     “The Vancouver Kid's doing just fine, it seems! Check out the step-up bulldog! Two attacks for the price of one!”

     Adam's feet hit the floor. He holds his mouth in mock pain, his brow furrowed in anger. His eyes cut over to the announcer's desk. He nods twice. A sign. She flashes him a thumbs-up. He nods once more as he hops back onto the apron. They have less than two minutes left in the match, she observes on the clock in front of her.

     “Yeah, well, just sit back, relax, and we'll see who's on top at the end of the night, okay, JJ?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All responses to the questions in this chapter should be submitted as notes/comments. Please show all of your work, and REMEMBER to use the proper units and significant figures!
> 
> ...
> 
> Seriously, anyone who actually goes through the time and trouble of calculating all of this (accurately) (like I did) might just have a prize waiting for them after this fic is done.


	18. The Main Event

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now it's time for the main event of the evening...lllllllllllllet's get ready to rumble!

“Oh baby...that was invigorating.” That was a lovely tease, but her body pleads for more. She'd denied herself penetration back at the arena. Truth is, she'd have had him on the locker room floor, were it not for their obligation to come to the party. “Now,” she coos, “it's my turn to take care of you.”

She rolls off the bed and playfully sashays in front of him, nipples still fully erect and wet from his ministrations. She straddles his lap and tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it behind her. She grinds in his lap as she takes the overalls down to his waist.

It's not often that she really takes time to admire his physique. Damn shame, that—he's got a lot of physique worth admiring. His thick shoulders and arms are well-defined and heavy with muscle, as are his tree-trunk legs. His powerful chest and strong, currently bulging stomach are covered with a layer of coarse, dark hair that thins out as it extends over his limbs. She runs her hands over his chest, her fingers frolicking in the sweaty layer covering his skin. She savors the contrast of her rugged man and their plush surroundings.

She feels one of his hands on her backside while her zipper seems to come undone on its own. Her body screams at her to stop gawking and get him inside her. She stands up off of him and quickly undoes the button to her shorts.

He begins following suit, unbuttoning his denim singlet at the waist and sliding it slowly off of his hips. His shorts go with it, exposing his member to her. It's brick-stiff and almost as red.

She stops at the sight. His cock is usually not this imposing. Not only does it still look a bit bigger than usual, but it seems to pulse with a life force all its own, one that's making it swell with anger. Worried, she asks, “You okay there, dear?”

He smiles warmly, kicking his overalls to the floor. “Never better. You?”

“Oh, I'm fine.” She points to his cock. “You're the one who seems to have a situation going on down there. You're sure nothing hurts?”

Adam shrugs lazily. “Not a thing. Maybe it's a little mad that it's been fired up all day long, yet only got to play outside just once.”

“Why's it red, though?”

Adam laughs sheepishly. “I didn't want to wipe your lipstick off just yet. Might seem a little silly, but it was nice to have a little bit of you on me, since I couldn't get near you until now.”

She smiles, her concerns melting away. Most women would be distressed at Adam's idea of sentimentality, but with physicality being so precious to him, she knows that maintaining contact with her by proxy is a sweet gesture. _It's the thought that counts...let's give him something real to think about._ “Well,” she purrs, let me lay this out for you. I am...” She slides two fingers on each hand under the waist of her shorts. “...painfully horny. I've been running in the blue since about fifteen minutes after we parted ways, and it's made me a bit crabby with not-you people.”

“Sorta figured, after you put that scrawny asshole on blast.”

“He had it coming.” She unbuttons her shorts and slides them to the floor. All that covers her privates now is a pair of satin bikini panties that match her bra, the purple lace trimming the waistband. “I need to fuck—badly, now, and all night long.” None of the flirty games of their earlier encounter—both are beyond ready for love now.

“Sounds like I can help you with that,” he assures her, his voice ragged and hot. “That's what I need, too.”

“Fancy that.” She smiles a strange smile, a blend of joy, excitement, and overwhelming desire. She hops back onto his lap. “Then lie back, and I'll make us both feel much better.”

“You sure you don't want to be on bottom first?”

“Babe? You wrestled a half-hour long match before the party. All I did was sit there eating Flav-o-Fibes, and then some stretching.” She moans as he forcefully nuzzles her neck. “The least I could do is ride you cock until you give my pussy its first big load of the night. I could use the exercise.”

He shakes his head. “You're perfect like you are.”

“Damn right,” she says confidently, “but even perfection needs to maintain on the daily. I guess you'd know that already.” She playfully shoves him down and raises her hips, hands planted on the bed. He can feel the heat eminating from her loins, wafting around his purplish cockhead. He shoots her a questioning look.

“Crotchless,” she says, anticipating the question from his face. “ I decided I wanted as little as I could get away with between me and you when the time came.” She grinds her wer snatch against his throbbing dick, grazing her clitoris against the tip with each pass. “I was tempted to wear a skirt, but I'm sure I'd get an earful from the Silvers if I dressed like such a whore at a public event.” She slides up and glides slowly onto his dick. She closes her eyes as the sensation of fullness takes hold of her. “Ahhh...that's better.”

He growls approvingly, then grabs her by the waist. She's taking too long for his liking. With one sudden thrust, he drives her onto his manhood as far as she'll go.

Katy yelps, more out of surprise than pain. She can't be sure if the Moonlight has made his manhood larger, her womanhood tighter, both, or neither, but he feels gigantic inside her tonight. She braces herself with two hands on his chest, the angle making him easier for her to handle. “I'd have gladly impaled myself on you, babe,” she huffs lustily, “but you have to let a lady take her own sweet time with these things.” She peels his hands off her waist and locks fingers with him, pinning his arms to the mattress. “Like I said, Round 1's all me tonight.”

She begins grinding her hips on his pelvis, slowly at first. It doesn't give her a lot of movement, but with so much of him to work with, she doesn't need much movement for now. She moans with pleasure as each new pass makes her fullness feel more overwhelming.

She knows he could easily roll her over and have his way with her. He'd done it before, and it felt incredible. The way he'd flipped her to her back, grabbed her ankles, and driven himself deeper and deeper into her with every thrust had made it wonderfully hard to walk the next morning. With her tits dangling in front of his face, however, he seems content to let her ride him at her own pace.

He lets a low, guttural sound escape his lips as she picks up the pace. Her wet heat just makes him want more of her. The sensation of her pussy sliding effortlessly over every square inch of his cock is electric. He loves the pressure of her pelvis against his, the way her juices churn and dribble over his manhood, the feeling of every nerve tickling and pulsing as she lavishes lust upon him.

“You like that, stud?” she pants. She can feel the heat and the pressure building rapidly in her core. She leans up, taking him to the hilt, and throws her head back with a pleased groan. When he grabs her hips and begins thrusting upwards into her, the waves of pressure course through her whole body. She bobs instinctively on his shaft as his hips move off the mattress. The violent clapping sound they make with each contact spurs them on. He loves to watch her tits bounce as he slams himself into her aching, needy pussy, especially when he bucks her into the air like this. She moans and huffs louder with each intensifying thrust. Without the Annex's soundproofing measures, she'd be heard throughout the serpentine hallways they needed to navigate to get here. At some point, her looped ponytail came undone, letting bright red peals drape over her blushing face, neck and shoulders. Her hair flails in rhythm with her rough ride. She is divine like this: joyful, carefree, overwhelmed with desire, and taking and giving pleasure in equal measures.

There's a kettle whistling deep in Katy's loins, and it feels like it's about to pop from the pressure. She aggressively rolls her hips as she races towards her climax, exclaiming and grunting as her husband's massive rod slams back and forth, up and down, in and out of her soaking wet snatch. She shudders with delight with each rise and plunge.

“I love this stuff,” he says, his face taut with effort. The fine sheen of sweat on his brow glistens under the low light of the plush room. “It brings out your inner porn star.”

She can tell he's also about to burst, but he's straining to hold it back. _That simply won't do,_ she thinks. She leans forward, resting her lovely lady lumps on Adam's chest. “Does it now?” she asks in her most sultry voice.

“K-katy...”

“Adam, I've waited all night for your huge, strong cock to pump me full of cum.” She bobs her ass straight up and down on his turgid dick. “I even got my re-up shot two weeks ago, just to make sure I was ready for tonight.”

“You swear it?”

She laughs harshly as she speeds up her bobbing. “Is that all you're worried about? You couldn't knock me up with a gallon of spunk, and you can take that as a challenge!” She twines her fingers through his hair and slams into him harder as her body quakes in anticipation. “It's nice to know you can blow load after load into your little whore without worrying about a rugrat messing up our lives, isn't it?”

Her body begins to buck as it experiences her third orgasm of the night. Her eyes shoot wide open, and she arches her back to alleviate the tension as the contractions start to pulse through her whole body. She lets out a staccato cry of relief as the shockwaves reach her head. Her back pops loudly as her muscles begin to relax again.

“Augh, I just came thinking about you emptying your balls in me! Won't you please grant my wish, darling?” Her voice is pouty as she teasingly wiggles in his lap, still seated firmly around his engorged staff.

In response, he clamps his hands around her broad hips and begins rapidly pumping her up and down his piston. His strained face says he might burst a blood vessel if he doesn't bust a nut soon.

“Ah! Yes, more, yes, yes!” Her last orgasm wasn't through with her yet. She can feel the waves crashing over her body again as he forces the whole of his shaft into her again and again, his rippling arms lifting her up and down with ease. There's a part of her, a part she doesn't like talking about at parties, that loves it when he makes her feel just a little helpless like this. “Use me, Adam! Use me to cum!”

“Your wish is my command!” he bellows. With a final, violent thrust, he makes a noise somewhere between a sight of relief and a animalistic howl as jet after jet of hot spunk slam into the back of her waiting vagina.

She throws her head back again. The sudden burst of warmth deep within her is what she needed. She can barely yell for the force of her aftershock orgasm as it draws her body tight onto itself. This man has given her aftershocks before, but never one as strong as the original orgasm. She can only laugh while she slowly regains her basic motor functions. She's just had two body-wracking orgasms in a row, but all she can think about is getting fucked more. As she is carefully lifted off his dick and rolled onto the mattress, she notices that not only is he still fully erect, but that his member glistens in the dim lights from their commingled sexual juices. In that second, she gets a wonderful idea. She pushes herself off the mattress after a moment's pause, sliding her sodden panties off of her voluptuous ass as she walks.

“Looks like you're still ready to rumble.”

“You know I won't say no.”

“Why don't we try something new?”

She drapes her front against the wall, looking cozy against the purple velvet. Her backside sticks out invitingly, her back arching to make it look rounder than it already is. A thick trickle of semen oozes lazily down her right leg. _What a wonderful little slut,_ he thinks proudly.

“See, even though I just rode you like the thoroughbred stallion you are, I'm still really, really horny.” She pushes her body off the panel, bracing herself with only her hands. “Adam?”

He stares at the delectable booty in front of him. His erection twitches. “Yeah, Katy?”

“I think tonight's the night. I feel ready. I want you...to fuck me in the ass.”

 


	19. Improv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A last minute change of plans leaves a lot of unanswered questions for the audience, the commentary team, and the wrestlers themselves.

     The rabid crowd lets out a collective shout as the distinct _clap_ of high-impact limb-on-head violence rings throughout the arena. Mark crumples into a heap on the mat, his backside dangled over his head. Adam stares down at the man he just capsized. _Showoff's trying to block the next move,_ he thinks.

     “What a vicious clothesline from Adam Gerin!” shout JJ Savvy, looking over to his commentary compatriot for help on a more official name for the move.

     For once, Kate Cabana doesn't have her husband's mind read. She knows he's been working to incorporate more signature moves into his arsenal—she suspects he's trying to introduce a new “groove,” his term for a distinct, psychologically sound movelist—but he hasn't named this one just yet. Moreover, her mind's in just a bit of an amorous fog. She could really stand for some relief right now. However, she earned top marks in her improvisation classes for a reason. “Look, JJ, I know your idea of classic wrestling only traces back to Dubya's second term, but even you should recognize a lariat when you see one.”

     “What's the difference?”

     Kate gives him a withering look. _More tape time, boyo._ “Subtle, but vast. You can ask The Vancouver Kid when—well, if—he wakes up.”

     Dustin pushes himself off the second rope with some difficulty. He and Mark have been hitting each other with their biggest stuff for the last four minutes, and he's reaching the bottom of his reserve. Adam helps him to his feet.

     “Let's go for a different finish tonight,” he whispers.

     “I'm hip,” Dustin slurs tiredly. “What's up?”

     “Sitout belly-to-back piledriver, top rope.”

     Dustin's eyes bulge as the third eye of Adam's forehead suddenly reemerges. “Do what?!” is all he can muster from the shock.

     “Follow my lead,” whispers Adam. Then, he bellows, “Pick this little jerkass up! We're gonna put him on ice for good!”

     Dustin nods, a wicked smile crossing his face. They are supposed to be the heels, after all, and what better way to drive that home than to threaten to injure a relatively well-liked face? He leans down to the masked, lightly-armored man lying on the mat. Mark seems surprised to see him.

     “No 450?” he quietly queries.

     Dustin shakes his head as he wraps the other man's legs around his neck and shoulders. “Adam wants a top rope piledriver.”

     Mark stares through his mask. “Is he high?”

     “Stone cold sober.” He'd know. Dustin captures his foe's arms.

     “Is he crazy?”

     “Maybe.”

     “Does he hate me?”

     “Not that I've heard.” Dustin heaves the extra weight into the air. Like his legs and back aren't already screaming in agony.

     The crowd is roaring. Adam's perched on the top turnbuckle. Dustin staggers into position before his tag partner, Vancouver Kid in tow.

     “What in the world is going on there?” wonders JJ Savvy aloud. Katy'll never admit it, but she quietly wonders the same.

 


	20. Sweet Daydreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little jaunt down memory lane...

     For just a moment, it is 2012. He is 10 years old, parked on the gray cloth couch in Ms. Pawlecki's living room, his knees forming a write-ready platform in front of him, a towel around his head to sop up the sweat he'd broken since the morning. His sister lies on the mustard-yellow shag carpeting in front of him, absently kicking her feet in a slow, lazy arc behind her.

     “Hello, darlings!” The voice is high and sweet, just a touch scratchy from overuse. “I really would like to thank you two for helping out so much in the yard today! Could I interest you two in some milk and cookies?”  
They nod their heads vigorously and respond, “Yes please!” in unison.

     The woman in the doorway is plump and pleasant in face, frizzy white hair falling over her ears and her horn-rimmed glasses. She holds a tray stacked with snickerdoodles and two tall mugs of cold milk. “I thought you might say that. They're fresh out of the oven!”

     Adam takes the tray gently from her wrinkled, arthritis-riddled hands. “Thanks, Ms. Pawlecki,” he says.

     “Just be sure you eat over a plate, dears,” she says with a warm smile. For a second, Adam thinks about how sad it is that this kindly lady doesn't have any of her own grandchildren to spoil like this. “It's the least I can do to thank you! My old bones can't do much yard work anymore. If it weren't for you two, it'd never get done.”

     Adam offer his sister a mug wordlessly. Maryse ignores him, snatching three cookies and a small yellow plate. “It's no problem,” she chirps before lying back down on the yellow forest beneath her. Adam resented her vaguely for this—being on weeding detail, she'd had to do a lot less of the heavy lifting and dragging that he'd had to do to clear out the branches her neighbor had chopped off the ancient cherry tree in her backyard.

     The older woman nods her head. “If you need anything, I'll just be in the kitchen with my crosswords.”

     Maryse finally takes her mug as the duo refocus on the TV screen in front of them. Pokemon was one of the few shows they could agree on, and it just so happened to come on while they waited for their father to pick them up from Ms. Pawlecki's house, just a few doors down from where the school bus dropped them off each day. They stayed with her many days during the summer, too, days like today. Adam had been playing along with the current season on his copy of Pokemon Black, but Elesa and Clay had given him some real problems, so he wasn't sure who was up next.

     On the screen, the trio of protagonists were amazed by a display of acrobatic aerial feats, as well as dismayed by the long waiting line for a gym battle. When the hotshot pilot stepped out of her plane and revealed herself as Mistralton City Gym leader Skyla, the trio, and the audience in this small house, were even more surprised.

     “Wow, Adam, who's that?” Maryse asks, believing that her older brother knew everything there was to know about Pokemon. Her small voice falls on deaf ears. His feet are on the floor as he leans forward in his seat.

     He's seen a great number of human females in his life. Some were young and silly, like his sister and her pony-obsessed friends. Others were like his mother, warm and caring, if a bit careworn. Still others, like his aunts in Florida, were goofy and fun-loving, always up for some romp or other. Even more, such as his grandmothers and Ms. Pawlecki, had seen better days, but were wrinkled and cozy and much more permissive than his mother. But none of them were quite like this bright-eyed, red-haired lady on the screen. Even his best friend, Mick—short for Michaela—could not hold his attention quite like this. He found himself noticing the cheeriness of her smile, the lilt and attitude of her voice, the curve of her waist, the fullness of her hips, the perkiness of her bosoms, the cut of her clothes, the sass of her stride—things he's never considered before about a woman. He sat in silence, drinking it all in.

     The episode ended, but he remembered nothing else of it. He had to know more about her, to see more of her.

     That night, under cover of darkness and a spare Gryffindor bedsheet, he snuck onto the family computer and sought her out. He saw much, much more of her that night. More than he'd imagined! More than he bargained for. For the first time in his life, he felt a strange stirring within his chubby belly. It wasn't hunger, but it did feel like he was missing...something all of a sudden, something his young, naive mind couldn't quite grasp. Before he had a chance to explore the sensation any further, the lights above him flicker on. He turns the computer chair around slowly to face his father. Through the sheet, he can see that his father's doing a fine job of completely blocking up the doorway, beefy arms crossed in front of his wide body. His scowl seems chiseled into his face. He feels the sheet fall away from the screen. Busted.

     Silence. The elder chuckles when he peers at the screen. His face warps into an amused smirk. “Whatcha up to, kid?”

     He stammers and sputters, then finally spits out, “This isn't what it looks like!”

     There were consequences, of course—punitive housework, reduced screen time, and a temporary allowance cut—but it could've been much more severe. In truth, it seemed like his father was more agitated with him breaking his bedtime than what he was seeing. Regardless of the cost, a fire had sparked in his breast, one that burns tonight. At the tender age of 10, when most boys still dream of being firefighting point guards or finding their very own real-life Transformer, he had a crush. A legitimate, passionate, grown-ass, beyond-puppy-love crush.

     It was the first of many for him. As his exposure to the world increased, his list grew longer and wider. Some names came and went, some stuck around, but you never do forget your first. Skyla was always at the top of his list, the anchor of his Lonely Nights Squad, the favorite member of his fantasy harem.

     Now here he is, 14 years later, sliding his fat, wet cock between his dream lover's asscheeks, using their combined love nectars to lube up the last feasible hole on her body he hasn't fucked yet while she begs him to sodomize her. _Childhood dreams do come true,_ he thinks as he teases her newly-slickened hole with the tip of his red, swollen cockhead.

     “Do it, baby,” she begs breathlessly as she leans herself into his pelvis. He chuckles at the shameless hussy his wife becomes whenever they fuck. He rewards her eagerness with a hard slap on the ass, eliciting a shout of pleasure from her. “That's right, Adam, put your hands on me. You know I love it when you spank my fat ass.”

     “I know it.” She moans as his head slides easily past her threshold. They've been working towards anal for a while now. She'd can't remember how many times he's taunted her by fucking her pussy silly, right up to the point of his release, then pulled out and popped his head through her backdoor just long enough to blow a massive load into her colon. After that, once he'd gone just a bit soft, he'd slide himself into her just a bit further than the time before, just so Katy could get used to him being there. She thrilled at the fullness it gave her, the sheer filthiness of the sensation, and it was a safe move, too—no pain, no risk involved.

     None of that tonight. She can feel her body scream at her for it. She wants him full bore, all the way inside her, no matter what it takes. She pushes herself onto him slowly, biting her lower lip as she enjoys the slow burn of her asshole expanding to fit snugly around her husband's rock-hard member. He slaps her ass again as he grabs her hips and drives her against the wall. Her breathing quickens as he slides his cock, centimeter by centimeter, into her rear end. “More,” she pants. “Give it all to me, Adam! Stop teasing me and fill me up!”

     He stops, flexing his cock inside her. “All of it? At once?”

     Her stomach churns slightly from nerves, but her lust demands satisfaction. She swallows hard and closes her eyes. “God yes.” She's done this a few times before, but never with a live person, but she wants to, nerves be damned. She feels him pull her back slightly, and braces for impact.

 


	21. Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you just have to jump right in...

     He closes his eyes. He's dones this a few times before, but never with a live person. Still, he wants to, nerves be damned. What could go wrong?

     Okay, a lot could go wrong, but his buzzing mind refuses to consider any of that as he waves a loaded Dustin to him, his smile malicious, his eyes wide and manic. He can see the concern in the masked face of The Vancouver Kid.

     “Get over here, loser!” He cackles viciously as he wrenches his victim's head down and wraps his muscular arms around Mark's waist, letting his would-be victim's hips rest on his biceps and forearms. The crowd swells with anticipation. The flash bulbs start flickering wildly in the stands. Adam strains slightly to balance the front-heavy load, swearing to fill Mark's existence with cayenne-laced itching powder if he's trying to sandbag his way out of this finish.

     His father used to do a spot like this as his finisher, first during the death rattle of ECW, then off and on during his treks of the indies. Back in 2000, a piledriver off the second rope seemed hella devastating, and one off the apron and through a table seemed lethal. With the passing of a whole quarter-century in the art, however, the stakes for “extreme” finishers has increased considerably beyond that point. The crowd simply demands more these days.

     A logical escalation is to move up to the top rope. Any move launched from the top rope automatically has a higher risk factor attributed to it, but the piledriver, a once-requisite move that is now all but banned by the largest wrestling company in the world, has the taste and allure of forbidden fruit. Rotating around the vertical axis makes even the most basic move look more dynamic, damaging, and overall impressive. That, and it's a double reference, a move used by his costume's inspiration and one of his Street Fighter mains. All together, it's a perfect way to take a multi-layered homage and make it his own.

     Adam straightens himself up, his opponent's head between his legs. The crowd roars for blood around him. He swallows hard, closes his eyes, jumps towards the center of the ring, and braces for impact.

 


	22. Deep Impact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Other times, it helps to be prepared before you go in deep...

     He's too dry for that. He knows it'd be a cruelty to her to force himself into her backside when he's this hard and this dry, and, needless to say, that'd really kill the mood for both of them.

     “Detour first,” he rasps. He slides easily out of her anus and sticks two fingers inside to hold his place. He jams his cock into her wet pussy, slamming himself deeper into her than before. Here, he knows he can pound her relentlessly without hurting her, and he does.

     She moans raptly as her breasts slap against the cool velvet with each aggressive slam into her love canal. She can feel his fingers sliding deeper into her anus as he fills her pussy with each heavy thrust. She recognized this setup. He'd stretch her out like this some nights before tonight. Other nights, he'd lube up a tapered dildo made just for anal play and plunge it inside her while he fucked her from behind. It makes her feel so wonderfully nasty when he plugs both of her holes at once, especially when he grabs her hips and stuffs both of his rods, all the way to the hilt, into her, then grinds his hips around, feeling them molding her pussy and asshole for the pounding ahead. She'll never admit it publicly, but the true origin of his nickname, “The One Man Double-Team,” actually stems from this private practice of theirs.

     Finally satisfied with the slickness of his dick, he yanks himself out of her pussy and begins steadily invading her asshole, pushing constantly forward, so engrossed in the feeling of her sphincter widening to accommodate him that he's oblivious to the fact that he's shoving her head into the wall with his hand as he presses ever inward. When he pulls back and drives his hips into the next thrust, she lets out a small shriek of pleasure blended with pain.

     It's now that he realizes the discomfort she's obviously in, what with her neck contorted and her fingers trying to clench. He sheepishly puts his hand back on her hip. “Sorry, babe. Got a little bit lost.”

     She rolls her neck and grinds back on him. “It's okay, stud.” Her voice sounds downright vulgar. “I just need to get used to having all of you in there.” She wiggles her hips and swirls her ass around, reveling in the sheer filthiness of making her lover's dick disappear into her. _That training dildo really is much smaller than he is_ , she reflects internally. She's never felt quite so overwhelmed in her life, and she loves it. He pulls her backwards, sending the last half-inch of his member into her with a pleased sigh. Her yelp is much happier now. “Is that everything?”

     “Yeah, it is,” he grunts as he twitches inside her tight hole. “How's it feel?”

     “It's amazing,” she pants. “I could come to like being a butt slut.”

     He starts leaning back, slowly pulling out.

     “No, Adam, please don't,” she pleads softly. “I need you in me, please don't pull out.”

     “I wasn't.”

     He crams his length back into her asshole, all at once, with one rough thrust. She gasps indulgently. He grabs her shoulders and lays into her with short, choppy thrusts that quake her whole body.

     Her eyes are wide open as she moans joyously, another orgasm building in her loins. He was really doing it! She was getting fucked in the ass, and hard, by the only man she'd ever want, and it feels better than she'd ever thought it could! A pair of joyful tears crawl down her face. Dreams do come true!

 


	23. The Finisher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things (and matches) must come to an end...but some might not like the ending. There's a lot riding on the line at the end, after all.

     Her eyes are wide open, and her face is drawn and white. He was really going to do it. He had Mark where he needed him to be, and Dustin was already backpedaling away, stumbling halfway across the ring and landing flat on his ass with an uncharacteristic lack of grace.

     “What the Hell does Adam Gerin have planned for the Vancouver Kid?”

     “If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's set up for a piledriver.” Her voice is dull as she tries to hide her concern. If injuring himself was bad for Adam's career in the ASWF, crippling someone else was worse, especially after wandering so far off the script like he has.

     Sure, sure, his thighs are more than big enough to cushion the fall for Mark, but if Mark's head slides off that cushion and hits the mat first, his neck is as good as broken. In the ASWF, bad things happen to people who hurt their coworkers. If this stunt goes awry, the big boss could take a hankering to blackball him, and then make her job contingent upon smearing him as much as possible once he finds a new job. Not likely, of course, but why would he risk that? Adam, by his nature, is not a risky guy.

     A lie. He takes measured risks, ones where the rewards far outweigh the consequences. This doesn't appear to be one of those risks. This match is already a Match of the Night contender, it doesn't need the life-threatening finish to push it over the top. The Match of the Night incentive wouldn't be enough to make Adam do something this crazy, even if he did like getting an extra $1000 on his monthly paycheck for every TV show where he won the honor.

     He must be counting on his legs to soften the blow to nothing. Either that, or he's gone mental.

     She sees him launch himself, and Mark, off of the turnbuckle. Just eyeballing it, they're seven feet in the air when Adam begins rotating like a very slow top. _Mental_ , she thinks.

**Kra-KOOM!** Even with the amateur wrestling mat between the plywood base and the canvas top, their combined impact sounds like an indoors thunderclap. The crowd goes ballistic, a “Holy Shit” chant starting in the front row almost immediately after the impact. Katy stares agog until a hysterical JJ says, “What did we just witness?!”

     “A murder, JJ, because the Kid is dead,” she finally has the wherewithal to say. “Someone get a spatula and a pine box, he's a goner.” _So's Adam_ , he thinks, _if it turns out I'm right_. It doesn't help that Mark's bent at an angle that no yoga master would ever recommend to a student. It's good to know, though, that if he ever needs to suck the water off his own knee, he could reach without a straw.

     Adam pins his flattened foe to the canvas. Dustin scrambles over and pins the Vancouver Kid's ankles over his head.

     “Here's the pinfall...2...3.” The bell beside them rings before JJ continues his somewhat crestfallen narration. “The Sexy Nerds roll to another victory, and P.T. Banner is going to be livid.”

     “After the can of whoopass Adam Gerin just poured out all over The Greatest Show, it was academic.” Katy leans forward in her seat, praying for a sign of life from Mark. When he finally begins stirring as Adam stands up, Katy sits back in her chair. _Good,_ she thinks. _Now we can celebrate._

 


	24. Change of Venue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But, of course, it wouldn't be good to end the night without an explosive finish...don't forget to leave with who you came with...

     Her tongue lolls out of her mouth as Adam drives long, body-shaking strokes into her asshole. Her hands and chest are pinned against the wall while her knees rest on a bench that surrounds the room. The new angle's made it easier for Adam to drive full, hard thrusts into her very core. He's now got a good, steady rhythm going, ravaging her asshole with the eagerness and confidence he demonstrated the third time they slept together—no longer timid and tenuous, but not yet brazen enough to go full speed on her.

     “Oh God, Adam! Adam, I'm gonna cum again!” This news only spurs him to thrust more vigorously, driving his whole length through her with forceful strokes. The waves seem to crash over her body in time with his still-heavy balls slapping against her cunt. She lets loose a halting, ecstatic scream and scratches at the velvet wall as her body quivers and trembles from the force of another orgasm. Her scream fades into relieved laughter as her body relaxes again.

     “What an incredible whore you are, cumming from getting fucked in the ass,” he breathes out through heavy panting.

     “You love it,” she murmurs with a contented sigh. “You gonna bust a nut in my ass?”

     “You deserve it, so yeah.” He can feel that he's ready to pop. With a final thurst, he buries himself, all the way to the pelvis, in her asshole. She gasps gleefully as she's pushed back against the wall. He rolls his hips just a few more times before he reaches his own orgasm, shooting hot torrents of jizz into her bowels as he cranes his neck backwards involuntarily.

     “That's right,” she commands, “fill your whore's asshole with your seed! Make me take it all!” She shudders as she feels his rod pulse as it pumps her full of semen. She heaves a final, loving sigh as he pulls out and sprays his last jet on her pussy. “There isn't a man or woman on this planet who could replace you,” she murmurs contentedly as she settles her rear onto the bench, careful to avoid damp spots.

     “You were thinking about replacing me?” His tone is sarcastic, a sneer playing over his lips while he speaks.

     She slowly shakes her head and chuckles. “No, and even if I was, I wouldn't after that demonstration. I told you I was yours now and forever, didn't I?” He smiles warmly. “Speaking of our wedding day, if I'd have known then that this getup would be so...inspiring, I'd have put it together long before now.”

     “How did you know, period?” he asks as he looks up from his phone.

     “You really don't think I've read through all of your fanfiction by now?” She swings her legs to the floor, reading concern on his face. “What's up?”

     “We've been here 56 minutes. We should probably go.”

     “You don't actually think there's a time limit to be in here, do you?”

     “I'd rather not find out, all things considered.”

     “Well, then,” she muses, “why don't you take me upstairs and finish painting me white?” She gently strokes his balls and his still-erect member with a single finger. “Feels to me like those boys are still ready to play. As I promised, I am yours for the evening, and I want you to use me up. Exhaust me. Make it hard for me to stand in the morning again. Are you up for the challenge?”

     He grins wickedly. “Your wish is my command.” With a single motion, he heaves her off the bench and into his arms.

 


	25. Defrag Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, after the climax(es), we need to see some declining action. Y'know, for closure.

     Katy stands before the slowly defogging mirror, combing out the remaining strands of her wet hair. _Guess we'll see if protein really is good for your hair or not,_ she muses as she inspects her red-dyed locks.

     Last night, he was more than good to his word. They ravaged each other into the wee hours of the morning, grinding and thrusting their way through a litany of positions both familiar and new. They finally retired at half past 5 AM, both husband and wife sore, sweaty, and far too spent to clean up after themselves. The ruined bedsheets rest on the floor, at the foot of the naked bed. Katy had to stagger to the bathroom and prop herself up in the shower to wash off the sticky remnants of their torrid night of passion.

     Nine. Nine cumshots, he gave her last night. That's a lot of spunk to wash off. She practically had to peel herself off the bed to get her morning shower. Technically, he'd orgasmed ten times through the course of the night, but his last had no issue and made him groan in pain, so it hardly counts. She still won the night, 13 orgasms to 9. She remembers him collapsing after he fingered her to her final climax of the night, his body shiny with sweat, his smile sated but weak. She heard him snore heavily as she drifted off into a sound, blissful sleep. Her thoughts are broken by a rough cackle.

     He looks up from the laptop screen as she staggers into the bedroom. It's about all he has the energy to do right now.

     “What's the hubbub, bub?” she asks, amused at his wide grin.

     He gestures to the TV screen. “Check this shit out, Katy.”

     She turns her attention to the TV. The blonde reporter is trying hard to hide her Kansas City twang as she reports about an ongoing investigation into a late-breaking scandal. As best as her fatigued mind can absorb, some such local House representative and public champion of “traditional family values” got busted last night at a local no-tell motel with a 20-year-old call girl and 100 grams of cocaine, all while his wife was in the hospital after a skiing accident. She scoffs. “No wonder you're so amused.” Her husband collects hypocritical politicians like some people collect baseball cards.

     “It gets better,” he comments. “Apparently, they found a reservation in this donut's briefcase for this hotel, so they asked some questions downstairs this morning. A concierge guy recalled turning these two away because the room they wanted was already taken.”

     She turns to him slowly as his implication sinks in. “You don't think we took his slot, do you?”

     “I choose to believe that we did,” he responds smugly. “God's will is revealed in happenstance, isn't that what Mr. Silver likes to say? How fitting, then, that a two-faced crusader gets outed as a serial cheater thanks to the experiments of a faithful married couple?”

     She smiles with amusement. “Have you done your bit of justice for the world's betterment?”

     He shrugs. “It's my good deed for the month, at any rate.”

     She slumps against the nearest wall to her. “Ugh, I don't wanna go to a stinkin' meeting today...”

     “You're in luck, then—all normal post-show meetings have been cancelled for today, per order of the Silvers. I guess everybody balled a little too hard last night.”

     She raises her hands and waves them tiredly. It's all the celebration she can muster. “Anything else from work I need to know?”

     He scrolls through his most recent work emails. “We got Match of the Night!”

     “Nice!” Her enthusiasm is less subdued now.

     “There's also rumblings that it might be a late contender for Match of the Year across a number of sources.”

     “See? I told you you looked great out there, didn't I?”

     He smirks at her. “That's not quite what you meant, now is it?”

     “The point still stands. You earned the compliment, so take it already,” she says in mock defiance. “Anything else from Bossman?”

     “Uhhh...if I ever go that far off-script for the finish again, he's going to smash my head into my shoulders.”

     “Why did you go for that crazy finish, anyways?” she asks adamantly. “JJ and I were expecting The Gamebreaker out of you two.” She puts a thoughtful finger to her lips. “So was everyone else in the locker room, including Dustin, come to think about it.”

     "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Fit more with the head-based psychology Dustin went for during the match. Besides,” he continues after tapping another tab on his browser window, “I can blame it on the Moonlight. Stuff's got a laundry list of side effects, and loss of inhibitions is one of them.”

     “Seems to me like 'loss of inhibitions' is one of the intended effects of an aphrodisiac,” she quips.

     “You'd think, but officially, it's a side effect. Probably because date rape drugs have 'loss of inhibitions' as intended effects, along with 'loss of consciousness' and other unsavory titles.”

     “Well, who needs that bad publicity?”

     “Exactly.” He brushes absently at his styled moustache. “Studies show it's more effective on heavier people, too, and taking more than one caplet at a time could cause an upward spike in blood pressure, along with shortness of breath and heart palpitations under extreme bodily duress.”

     She studies him briefly. He doesn't seem to be suffering or unhealthy in any way right now, aside from their shared fatigue. She does remember that his breathing was choppy and strained near the end of the night, though. “How did you survive last night, then?”

     A slight shrug of his shoulders. “Good CON check? Best not to tempt the RNG. Let's take it easy on our day off, huh?”

     “Seconded. I'm sore and weary. Any good movies playing?”

     He shakes his head. “Nothing at the big theaters we haven't seen already. There IS a triple feature of MST3K movies hosted by Joel at a little arthouse downtown, if we can find it, but that doesn't start until 6 PM.”

     “Ooooh, yes please. Let's do that!”

     He smiles. “Yes ma'am. There's some restaurants nearby doing recovery specials for lunch—we should scope those out.”

     She claps her hands. “Sounds like a plan. I'll dress while you shower.”

     He groans. “But that requires me getting up,” he whines.

     She rolls her eyes and smirks. “C'mon, you lump, I'll help you up.” She tugs helplessly on his beefy arm. “Little help?”

     He grins as he tugs her effortlessly off her feet. She yelps as she tumbles into his waiting arms. She brushes a stray lock of damp hair out of her face, matching his warm smile.

     “Hey there, sexy.”

     “Hey yourself.”

     They linger in their shared embrace. Two people, more in love today than they were yesterday, bask in the warmth of an afterglow the whole floor can sense, fresh beauty wrapped in dirty muscle. She lays her head on his chest as he toys with her hair. His heartbeat, so familiar to her now, sounds just fine.

     “You're perfect. You know that, right?”

     “I know. So are you.” She can feel the heat of his sheer maleness radiate off of his chest. It's soothing. She can also feel his fingers as they crawl down her back and come to rest on her naked rear. She cranes her face to meet his eyes. “You realize, after last night, that I have nothing left in the tank sexually, right?” A lie. Mentally, she could go again, even after last night. Physically, however, she needs a few nights to recover.

     He nods. “Same.” The truth. He's tapped out, and very happy to have a few days off. His hand placement is more out of habit than arousal right now. He gives her a playful squeeze and a peck on the forehead. “I just couldn't resist you.” He lets her slide to his side, then rolls off the bed and lets his feet hit the floor. “I hereby task you with finding a way to fill the hours between lunch and the moviethon.”

     “Aye-aye, cap'n.” She picks up the laptop he discarded before their little moment. Before she opens a new tab, she sees an unopened email from a Douglas Powell with a very obscene subject line. “Babe? Why's P. T. Banner mad at you?”

     “Before I suplexed him, I tattooed him in the neck,” he responds from the bathroom. “He's probably got a nasty bruise now.”

     “Oh geez, really?” She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “You should apologize to him before we get to Nashville.”

     “Apologize hell!” he snaps defensively. “He dumped you into the apron with no concern for your health! He had it coming!”

     “I'm no reason to get in trouble with someone in the locker room, babe!”

     “He's nobody.” His mood visibly brightens. “Now, I'm gonna get that shower. Don't worry about that asshole, 'cause we've got an easy day ahead of us, and I'm not gonna let him ruin it.”

     She smiles. After such a long, hard, passionate night, a slow day off sounds wonderful. She idly scrolls through a site on local cuisine as she hears the shower turn on. She pities the people of the world who don't have someone like her man—or her—in their lives.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glory, glory, hallelujah, it's done! My very first non-script story is (sorta) published.
> 
> I had the best of intentions, when I started, to get this done by the end of October. Y'know, for Halloween. What a laugh! I didn't realize there'd be so many things in the way, keeping me from typing my rough draft into a final. But now, it's over.
> 
> If you want to see more of these characters, or more of me writing, drop me a line. I've got a lot of pencil-on-paper stuff, but I'm interested to see if you all want anything in particular out of me.


End file.
